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WILD OATS 



DEAD LEAVES. 



BY 

ALBEET SMITH. 



SECOND EDITION. 



LONDON : 
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 



3EDCCCLX. 






Note. — The following pages were all in type at the time of the death 
of my late brother, and, with the exception of three or four articles at 
the end of the book, had all been corrected by him for the press. 

I have received communications from several friends, kindly express- 
ing their desire to add a preface and a memoir to this volume. I have 
declined these proposals, for the reason that I wished it to be presented 
to the public exactly as it would have been presented by my brother 
himself. Fortunately, I found the preface here printed (in his hand- 
writing) only a few days ago. As it bears date in May, it must have 
been written but a very little while before he died. 

I look forward, at a future time when I may feel equal to the task (I 
am very far from feeling equal to it now), to write some little memoir 
of my brother. Meanwhile, I trust it may not be considered out of 
place if I here offer my heartfelt, thp.nks to the very many unknown 
friends who have expressed deep sympathy with me and those others 
who were dearest to him. 

Arthur Smith. 

August, 1860. 



/ 5? 



Xf 



PREFACE. 



For the last ten years I have been so little before the 
world in my literary capacity, that it is just possible the 
taste of the light-reading public may have altered — no less 
from the inevitable change of opinion which that lapse of 
time exerts over everything, than from the overworking of 
a style holding out such great f acuities for imitation that 
the mere reputation of a " comic writer" has become the 
last that a literary man at present would wish to possess. 

And, therefore, it is with some diffidence that I send this 
volume before the public. All I myself can say in its 
favour is, that several of the sketches, commencing in 1840, 
were received with a degree of popularity that gradually 
led me to more important work. They were my earliest 
attempts at magazine writing when I was quite a young 
man, with very little trouble and very great spirits, — when 
I never had to " think" of a subject, or to hammer it out 
when once conceived. And I do not believe that I upset 



IV PREFACE. 

many conventional notions, or created many angry thoughts 
by their publication. 

They have remained undisturbed in their different repo- 
sitories for years. Some of them are altogether out of 
print — others have turned up as new to me upon revising 
them for this edition as I have no doubt they will be to 
many of my readers. No attempt to redress great wrongs, 
alter existing institutions, advance progress, or provide " in- 
tellectual food for the masses," will be found in them. 
There are many great minds — compared to my own as 
the Coliseum at Eome to a percussion-cap — who take 
these matters under their own charge. But believing 
that of every dozen people who take up a book, eleven 
do so for amusement, I "doubtingly" offer this to the 
majority. 

Albert Smith. 



North End Lodge, Walham Green, 
May, 1860. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

1. Thefts from the Percy Reltques . . • • . . 1 

2. Bedfordia 25 

3. A Winter's Night with my Old Books, chiefly concern- 

ing Ghosts and Prodigies 30 

4. A Real Country Ghost Story 44 

5. Mr. Tonks and his great Christmas Pailure . . . 53 

6. The Boys in the Streets 64 

7. A Prench School 75 

8. Alexandria to Cairo 79 

9. A Go-ahead Day with Barnum ,86 

10. Certain Tourists 102 

11. Mr. Ledbury revisits Paris, and is ignominiously ex- 

pelled from his Lodgings Ill 

12. Mrs. Cruddle's Annual Attack . . . . . 140 

13. The Queen of the Pete 151 

14. The Tradition of " The Polly" at Clifton . . .153 

15. Narrative of an Expedition to the end of Birkenhead, 

1846 160 

16. Miss Perkapple and the Gothics' Ball . . . .167 

17. Sweets and Bitters 177 

18. The Polkaphobia . . . . . . . .179 

19. The Struggles of Terpsichore 184 

20. A Legendary Charade ....... 189 

21. Lord Mayor's Day . • . 193 

22. A Street Sketch 202 

b 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

23. The Fairy Wedding . . 206 

24. About Chamois and Htjntees . . • • • . 212 

25. Opera Verselets 218 

26. An Old Swiss Traveller 224 

27. A Plea por Boulogne 229 

28. The Complaint of the Foreign-Office Clerk . . . 235 

29. Mr. Grubbe's Night with Memnon 237 

30. Address spoken by Mrs. Keeley at the Lyceum Theatre, 

July 8, 1844 246 

31. The Diligence 248 

32. Cucumber Castle 253 

33. How Mr. Straggles went cheap to Ascot . . . 269 

34. The Gilt-buttoned Yachtman . . . . . . 278 

35. Of Fairs, Fairings, and Fairies 279 

36. Il Fanatico per la Musica 284 

37. A Visit to Eton Montem, 1841 . . . . • . ' . 286 

38. How Mr. Straggles ate Whitebait at Greenwich . . 297 

39. Mr. Straggles has a Day's Fishing 308 

40. A Letter from an Old Country-House . . . 317 

41. Mr. Straggles is prevailed upon to go a Shooting . . 320 

42. Mr. Straggles has a Day with the Harriers, and re- 

nounces Sporting Life 330 

43. Lenora 341 



WILD OATS, 



i. 

THEFTS FROM THE PERCY RELIQUES. 
1. — THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 

In a very agreeable little volume of our English. Nursery 
BJiymes — which will entertain all who love to have the days of 
their tranquil childhood recalled in this grown-up, anxious, wear- 
ing struggle for existence — compiled with singular care by Mr. 
Halliwell, there is this metrical historical information: 

When good King Arthur ruled this land, 

He was a goodly king, 
He stole three pecks of barley-meal, 

To make a bag-pudding. 

A bag-pudding the king did make, 

And stuffed it well with plums ; 
And in it put great lumps of fat, 

As big as my two thumbs. 

The king and queen did eat thereof, 

And noblemen beside, 
And what they could not eat that night, 

The queen next morning fried. 

Were we addicted to putting forth those hazy speculations 
and attempts to make facts out of nothing — as the biographers 
of Shakspeare and other great people delight to do — we might, 
perhaps, in time glean the whole events of King Arthur's some- 
what unsatisfactory career from our nursery tales. Starting 



2 WILD OATS. 

from this point, it would not be a task of much difficulty to 
prove that the monarch and his consort were identical with the 
royal pair who counted out their money, and ate bread and 
honey during a domestic wash (in which the maid was attacked 
by a savage bird) and after that singular meal, whereat the 
dainty device of the two dozen blackbirds in the pasty eclipsed 
all that Soyer ever conceived. But we would rather come to 
facts ; and, therefore, with admiration for the king's " good- 
liness," — who, not being at all proud, stole the materials for a 
banquet, cooked it himself, and displayed, through his spouse, 
a most praiseworthy spirit of economy with respect to the 
debris, — we plunge at once into our legend, premising that, like 
everything else in the literary line at the present time, it is 
copied from something that has gone before. 

It was at " merry Carleile" that the king, and queen, and 
noblemen of the ballad were assembled; and in the sunny, 
smiling, leafy May of " once upon a time" — for we have no such 
Mays now. The seasons have gradually been falling back, like 
the time of an uncared-for clock, and the year wants fresh re- 
gulating. 

And merry indeed was the rout that had met together at 
Carlisle in the castle, and a glorious time they had of it. Queen 
Guenevere was a fair young hostess ; and not exactly the one 
to stop any fun once started ; indeed, perhaps it is as well for 
her character that the chronicles concerning her are somewhat 
of the haziest ; since, for a married woman and a queen, she 
was a desperate flirt. But her bright sparkling eyes were the 
loadstars that drew together a capital set of men ; who, follow- 
ing the newly-introduced fashion of the king, wore long hang- 
ing sleeves of all fabrics and colours, and made the court very 
gay indeed. And since they could not all pay attention to her 
at once, there were bevies of handsome women to keep them 
from getting " slow" — fair-haired, blue-eyed ladies of the pure 
Saxon race, with noble heads and chiselled features, and ex- 
quisite figures, and tiny hands and feet — all which attributes 
have been handed down to our noble lords and ladies of the 
present day, making even an American believe that there is 
something in blood and lineage after all, in spite of all that 
penny-a-line philanthropists and professional routers-out of the 
great wrongs of The People can find to the contrary. 

Certes, here was a goodly party of knights. There was of 
course Sir Launcelot du Lake, who sat next to Guenevere at 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 3 

the round table, and whose mailed foot a page, who had crept 
under the table for some missing jewel, saw lightly resting upon 
the queen's ; and Sir Bevis also came out uncommonly strong ; 
and Sir Bedivere, and Sir Kay, and also Sir Gawaine, all with 
handsome ladies. And there was such a rattling of armour 
when they sat down to dinner that it seemed as if all the Lord 
Mayor's show had attended, including the Horse Guards. "Wine 
was as plentiful as house beer at a club ; roasted peacocks with 
their tails displayed quite obscured the opposite guests ; for, 
independent of the king's pudding, there was something more 
on the table than the old conventional apples and ale-glasses of 
theatrical and pictorial banquets. Knights, for lack of knives, 
carved with their daggers for effect ; and ladies, for want of 
forks and dislike of fingers, picked up their food with bodkins ; 
and such toasts were drunk, and compliments paid, and very 
fair jokes made for the time of day, that, what with the laughter 
and chattering, and unheeded music of the bards, the hall was 
quite like a playhouse when a heavy legitimate drama is over, 
and people are awaiting the ballet or burlesque. Two only of 
the company were not altogether so noisy as the rest — and 
these were Sir Caradoc and his lady, who was one of the pret- 
tiest persons there. But they had lived in the country nearly 
all their lives, and felt unequal to meet the ready wit of the 
Londoners, so they kept to themselves, very quiet but very 
comfortable, smiling at what they understood, and wondering 
at what they did not ; and thereby filling very useful parts in 
society. For without a due proportion of smilers and won- 
derers, your diverting guests are sadly put out of conceit ; and 
if you make a party of all clever people, it is sure to be a failure. 
They will either affect dignity and do nothing, or all be funny 
at once, which is a more grievous affair than the other. 

Truth to tell, Queen Guenevere did not much like Sir Cara- 
doc and his lady. The former did not pay her attention enough, 
and she was jealous of the beauty of the latter. But Sir Cara- 
doc was a wonderful fighter, and upon need, could slit foreign- 
ers into slices, like French rolls for rusks, so they could not be 
openly offended ; and Sir Caradoc and his lady, on their sides, 
were delighted, as country people, to be at the board of royalty 
-—just as much as rural patricians at the present day. For 
although years effect great changes in organic things, the na- 
tures of men and women remain pretty much the same — in the 
inundation of a.d. 1846, as in the flood of B.C. 2000. Never- 

b2 



4 WILD OATS. 

theless the queen talked at them now and then, not afraid to 
say a sharp thing or two to Sir Launcelot at their expense ; and 
Lady Eose — that was Sir Caradoc's bride's name — now and 
then blushed deeply at some equivoque, that only made the 
queen's eyes sparkle more brightly. 

All sorts of wonderful people had been drawn together at 
Carlisle by the king's sojourn there ; — more gleemen, and jocu- 
lators, and minstrels, and extraordinary tumblers, than even 
Strutt himself ever dreamt of, as well as the Northern Scalds, 
who held that place in poetry which, ages after, the Scottish 
Burns appropriately enough filled. They came in and out as 
they listed ; nobody questioned them ; and so nobody was sur- 
prised when, one day after dinner, before the ladies had left the 
table, an odd small boy entered the hall, and walking straight 
up to King Arthur, made an obeisance to him. 

He was a strange, quaint little fellow, and reminded one of 
a conjuror seen through the wrong end of a telescope ; looking 
young and old at the same time, as the stunted trees did in the 
Chinese Collection. He was something like Mr. Wieland when 
he played an imp ; more like a dwarf one remembers to have 
seen for a penny on a third floor in High Holborn ; but most 
of all like Bumplestilskin, where he has thrust his foot through 
the floor, in the comical old German tale of that name. He 
did not appear at all abashed, but having quietly saluted the 
company, said : 

" G-od speed you, King Arthur, and fair Queen G-uenevere. 
Thy holy wish comes, leaving me well at present, as I hope it 
finds all you in return." 

Whereupon he gave a frisk, cut six in the air, went head 
over heels, and then alighted on his feet again, as cool as an 
oyster at home during a hard frost. 

" G-adso !" exclaimed the king, " you are a strange wight to 
regard, but an excellent one to perform. "What else can 
you do ?" 

" More than you would perhaps like me to," answered the 
old boy. " I can make every lord in this hall shiver in his 
armour." 

" You don't look like it," said Sir Kay, who was in the Anglo- 
Saxon Blues, and wore a heavy corslet, and, if possible, heavier 
mustachios, which, when he was excited, almost curled up into 
his eyes. 

" Pooh! stuff! nonsense!" added Sir Launcelot du Lake, as 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 

he crossed one leg over the other, with a noise like a hundred 
fire-irons all tumbling down into the fender at once. 

"I should like to see you," said Sir Gawaine, with a spas- 
modic laugh. Sir Gawaine was not very young, but he wore a 
wig and false mustachios, and his greaves were padded. Many 
old " Sirs" of the present day do the same. 

The boy made no answer, but his eyes twinkled like an open 
casement in the sunshine on a windy day, as he drew forth a 
walnut from his scrip, and laid it on the table, simply adding — 
" There." 

" "Well," said King Arthur, pulling up his hanging sleeves 
as he stretched out his hand to lay hold of it. " I see nothing 
here but a walnut. "We have finer ones at table. This is a 



" Crack it," said the stranger. 

King Arthur did as he was desired, and pulled out a little 
doll's cloak, very bright in colour, and very fine. 

"Observe," said the little man, taking it from the king; 
" you see how it stretches out. You would say it was india- 
rubber, only there is no such thing known at present. Now, 
elegant as it is, no lady who is not true of heart to her liege 
lord will be able to put it on." 

There was a great fluttering among the beauties present, and 
some of the knights looked uncomfortable. Indeed the pause 
became oppressive, for nobody would venture to try the mantle 
on, until the king requested Guenevere to set the example. 
But if he had seen the look she gave Sir Launcelot out of the 
corners of her beautiful eyes, as she rose, he would not have 
done it. 

A dead silence reigned as the queen approached the odd 
visitor and took the mantle from him. She made all sorts of 
objections to its form and colour, and was sure it would not 
become her ; and, wonderful to relate, all this time the mantle 
kept changing its shades like a chameleon, which the spectators 
attributed to the silk being artfully shot. At last Arthur got 
impatient, and put it on his wife's shoulders himself. 

But no sooner had he done so, than it crackled with a noise 
that set everybody's teeth on edge, and shrivelled up round the 
queen's neck like a piece of parchment in the fire. Guenevere 
blushed, as though all the scarlet had gone from the mantle 
to her cheeks ; the king nearly choked himself in trying to 
wash down a morsel of his own pudding with some hippocras ; 



6 WILD OATS. 

Sir Launcelot uncrossed his legs nervously, with another loud 
clang, and everybody was aghast. Then Guenevere uttered the 
naughtiest word that had ever left her rosy lips, and throwing 
the hideous mantle on the ground, rushed off to her room. 

" Gome, Sir Kay," said the boy, maliciously, " you're a stal- 
wart man and chivalric ; prove your lady's allegiance.'' 

Sir Kay's mustachios completely turned into spirals, like 
that nasty green stuff on twelfth cakes, as the stranger ad- 
dressed him. But it would not do to refuse before so many 
people, so he told his lady to stand forth. Pale and trembling, 
she obeyed. The mantle, which the owner had stretched out 
again, on being thrown over her, rustled, and fluttered, and flew 
about, although not a breath of air was stirring, and at last 
flapped over her head, and hid her face from the assembly. 
This was lucky, for not holding Kay's lady in such dread as 
they did the queen, the others laughed and winked until she 
had thrown down the mantle and bolted after Guenevere in 
great confusion. And then Sir Kay's mustachios, in his agony, 
stuck right out from his face, as lobsters' ieelers would have 
done, and he began to drink dreadfully. 

The same thing happened to almost all. Some came up as 
bold as that audacious alloy, brass ; some trembled like aspens 
— knights as well as ladies ; and Sir Gawaine even tried to 
tamper with the stranger, offering him twenty marks and his 
keep for a year if he could make the mantle become his lady. 
But it was all of no avail ; the cheapest advertising tailor of 
the present day could not have made anything, with all his in- 
genuity, that fitted anybody worse than the mantle. And so, 
one after another, they fled in disgrace to their rooms, and the 
knights looked as silly as might well be. 

And now there was only left Sir Caradoc's wife, Eose, and 
she was going to her chamber, finding that she was the only 
lady at the round table ; when the others insisted that she also 
should undergo, the ordeal, for they longed for the chance of 
annoying the pair. 

" The mantle shall belong to whoever can wear it," said the 
boy, to get up a little new excitement. 

" "Win it, Eose," whispered Sir Caradoc, " win it and wear it, 
sweet wife. I know you can." 

The lady came fearlessly from the table, and took the little 
cloak from the stranger. As she did so, it quivered and crinkled 
like a living thing ; and all the knights winked at one another 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 7 

except Sir G-awaine, whose wig was so tight that it would not 
let him. Sir Caradoc felt uneasy as one by one he saw the 
other ladies stealing back again, in the hopes of witnessing 
Eose's discomfiture. 

" Eor shame, mantle," said the lady, boldly addressing the 
robe, " there is no cause for this, for I have never done amiss." 

" Never ?" asked the little visitor, with emphasis. 

" Never !" replied Eose. " Oh, yes ! once, perhaps, I might ; 
and then I kissed the mouth of a gallant single knight under a 
green tree at home." 

All the ladies and knights made eyes at one another, and 
nudged, and twitched their companions, and laughed, as they 
crowded eagerly round to hear the confession. 

" And who was that, Lady Eose ?" asked the boy. 

" He was my husband afterwards," she replied, as her blue 
eyes swam round towards him ; and she smiled in acknowledg- 
ment of the pressure which his gauntlet inflicted on her little 
hand. Ladies did not wear gloves then. 

No sooner had she made this confession than the mantle, 
which she had put over her shoulders, turned to a beautiful 
deep blue, with a pile on it like that of the richest velvet. 
Gems sparkled out one after another all over it, as the golden 
stars appear in a twilight sky ; and it grew longer and longer 
until it fell down to Eose's very feet as a gorgeous mantle, in 
which she looked so very beautiful that the bystanders could 
not suppress their admiration. This was very remarkable, the 
more especially that one or two of the ladies were called upon 
to praise some one prettier than themselves, and this, with 
ladies generally, is a grievous trial. 

Eut the antics of the boy who had brought the mantle soon 
abstracted their attention. JFor he jumped, and capered, and 
frisked about; not paying any respect to Queen Guenevere, 
who stood sneering at Sir Caradoc and his lady ; nor Sir Kay ; 
nor Sir Gawaine ; nor Sir Launcelot ; but flourishing round all 
of them in the maddest manner, kicking his legs and heels 
about as though he had been pulled by a number of strings, 
and hanging here and there like a fantoccini, until finding him- 
self under an open skylight, he gave a final leap through it, and 
never came down again. The others all looked after him a 
long time ; but he was clean gone away, and vanished. 

The gentle Lady Eose bore her honours very meekly, and Sir 
Caradoc loved her more deeply than ever. The mantle was 



8 WILD OATS. 

kept for many centuries ; and tradition says that it is some- 
where, even now, in "Wardour-street, but that its real value is 
not known, as some great family who once possessed it, being 
in difficulties, took off all the precious stones, and filled up the 
places with Bristol diamonds. 

But this by the way; for we never believe anything con- 
nected with "Wardour-street and old furniture — we do not 
even believe ourselves when we are there. The court of King 
Arthur was equally incredulous ; but, like animal magnetism 
and the ether insensibility, although people vapoured about and 
pronounced it all a humbug, they could not exactly explain it 
to their satisfaction. There was an old, maniacal, grey-bearded 
bard, however, called Oroveso, who had whilome burnt a 
daughter named Norma for forming an improper alliance with 
a pagan ; and, going mad in consequence, was kept about the 
court to amuse the guests of Arthur by his sooth sayings. And 
he said that the old boy's mantle was nothing more than an 
embodiment of an easy conscience, which, whatever external 
appearances might be, would not accommodate itself in any 
wise to frames in which guilt and deception lurked. And so 
the Lady Rose's truth had won it j and, in the words of the 
real story, 

Everye such a lovely ladye, 
God send her well to speede. 



2. — SIE ALDINGAB. 

"Without doubt you have chanced in your lifetime to see 
the Lord Mayor's show. 

If you have done so, you will recollect how the procession 
got confused with the mob, and the mob with the procession, 
until you could not tell which was which ; how the military 
gentleman who headed it, balanced himself for dear life, in great 
fear, upon his horse ; how the banners always overpowered the 
watermen and their props who bore them ; how ignoble things 
fell into the tail of the procession — advertising-vans, coal- 
waggons, and long apple-stalls upon wheels ; and especially 
when it stopped, as it frequently did, you will call to mind how 
fearful was the want of respect paid towards the ancient knights 
by the mob ; how the smallest boys chaffed the mailed and 



SIR ALDINGAR. y 

mounted warrior with the tall brass blanc-mange mould on his 
head, and recommended him " to get inside and pull the blinds 
up to be out of sight;" how the more matured intellects asked 
him " what he weighed in his own scales ?" how they called 
out to know if he was " Alderman Armour ?" and how, there- 
upon, the ancient knight got so fearfully irate that he would 
have done terrible things to his persecutors, only that, in the 
first place, he could not turn his head, and in the second, he 
could not get off his horse without the aid of a crane. 

Just in this position of impotent rage was another ancient 
knight, Sir Aldingar, when our story begins. He had no other 
cognomination : he enjoyed his simple name and title, as Sir 
Peel, Sir Bulwer, Sir Clay, or Sir Hobhouse, do in the French 
newspapers of the present day: so that whether it was his 
christian or surname we cannot exactly make out. However, 
that is of little consequence : Sir Aldingar was in a most awful 
rage, not the more bearable because he did not very well see 
how he could vent it. 

Six hundred years ago, Sir Aldingar was steward to the King 
of England, and Queen Eleanor was his royal mistress — the 
sweet and gentle lady who followed her husband to the Holy 
Land, and drew the poison from Edward's arm with her own 
rosy lips. There was some love and affection, you see, in these 
old times, rude and bearish as we are apt to consider them. 

King Edward was a capital fighter, and loved a battle row 
above all things ; but he was weak in arithmetic, so that Eleanor 
conducted all the household accounts, and checked Sir Aldin- 
gar' s entries. He was, however, ever ready to go over the 
household expenses with her ; for if the truth must out, he 
admired her exceedingly. Her kind and gentle manner he 
mistook for encouragement; and one day when an illegible 
item in Sir Aldingar' s book of slates caused them to bring 
their faces very closely together to make it out, he wickedly 
said to himself, " Here goes !" and kissed her. 

How did Queen Eleanor behave ? She did not scream, nor 
ring the bell, nor call in any of those who waited without. She 
did not tell the king ; for there were such diverting punish- 
ments in those days — such culinary variations of hanging, broil- 
ing, drawing, boiling, spitting, and mincing criminals, that her 
woman's heart shrank from what she knew would be the result 
of so doing. But she gave Sir Aldingar such a box on the ear 
that it was red-hot the whole day ; and when he went to bed 



10 WILD OATS. 

it seemed as if his head was spinning round so fast that it 
hummed again like a top, with the exception that it never slept. 
And being of a bad disposition, he passed the time until morn- 
ing in planning vengeance against Queen Eleanor, and seeing 
how he could best hunt her down and ruin her with safety to 
himself. 

As he looked down upon the town of "Windsor from his bed- 
room loophole, at which he was shaving himself with his dagger, 
he saw a wounded, limping man-at-arms, with tattered surcoat, 
and very bad shoes, having walked all the way from Palestine, 
begging alms of the holy passengers who were starting for 
Slough, accompanying himself on a species of banjo of the 
middle ages, which the musical Crusaders of the time are le- 
gended to have carried. This was the little song he sang ; with 
a lithographed frontispiece, it would have enjoyed great draw- 
ing-room popularity at the present day : 

T E WARLYKJB TEOUBADOURE. 

! I'm y e warlyke Troubadoure, 

With my hey downe and willowe ! 
When y e crie is raised in war, 
Then I touch my lighte guitarre, 

Fal, lal, la! Fal, la! 

When y e battel fyghte is won, 

With my hey downe and willowe ! 
Home I haste from Palestine, 
Singing lovelye ladye mine, 

Fal, lal, la! Fal, la! 

" Now Gadso, grammercy, by my halidame, i' fackins ! thou 
hast a pretty wit," said Sir Aldin-gar, speaking after the ap- 
proved manner of the middle ages, as he approached the limp- 
ing troubadour, " and a voice like a merle. Wilt be heard by 
royalty ?" 

" I am not much in condition to go to court," replied the 
minstrel, as he looked at his paletot of seedy velvet, and his 
gauntlets, whereof the top scales were gone, so that his finger- 
ends protruded. 

" Eeshrew thee for a faint heart," said Sir Aldingar, again 
talking moyen age to him. " How dost call thyself ?" 

" I am named Alleyne the Throstle-throated," replied the 
other. 

" Well, come with me, Alleyne," replied Sir Aldingar, " and 
you shall sing to the queen within an hour." 



SIR AJLDINGAR. 11 

Wondering at his good luck, the footsore and wounded min- 
strel followed his new friend, who, instead of going through 
the great gates, opened a series of little doors with a latch-key, 
until they at last reached the queen's private apartment. 
Here Sir Aldingar told hiin to stop, and then he started off to 
find the king. 

Edward was working for health in the little garden at the 
foot of the Eound Tower, as was his wont, dibbling potatoes 
with an old sceptre ; but when he saw his steward hastening 
towards him, with a countenance expressive of much terror, 
he stopped, and asked him what was the matter. 

" Alack the day !" replied the knight. " I dare not tell your 
majesty, unless you will pass your word not to harm me." 

" Sav on," said the king; "I promise you, you shall be 
safe." ' 

"Honour!" asked Sir Aldingar, dubiously. 

" Bright !" replied the king, emphatically. " Now, go-a- 
head." 

" In a word, your queen is faithless, sire," said the evil- 
minded steward ; " her paramour is at this moment in her 
boudoir." 

King Edward let the sceptre fall from his hand, and stood 
for a minute speechless, for the tidings had quite taken away 
his breath. And then, as if he thought all the eyes of the 
potatoes were looking at him, he kicked away the basket that 
held them, and exclaimed, 

" Now, look you, Sir Aldingar : if you have told the truth, I 
will reward you with whatever you like to ask ; but if it is a 
lie, I will have you hanged to a gibbet so high, that you must 
go up a fire-escape to be turned off. Now, you know your 
fate : convince me." 

The evil knight straightway led the king to Eleanor's bou- 
doir, and there, sure enough, was the minstrel. Imagining 
that somebody had been brought to hear him, he put himself 
in an attitude, and was about to strike up a roundelay, when 
Edward knocked his light guitar into matches, and shook him 
so soundly, that the queen and her maids of honour, hearing 
the noise, ran into the chamber. They were all astonished — 
the minstrel especially so — and one of the prettiest damsels, 
Maude Aylmer, having caught sight of the minstrel, cried out, 
" Alleyne !" and fainted outright. But everybody was too much 
surprised to look after her ; and so, as is providentially arranged 



12 WILD OATS. 

in similar cases, she soon came round, looking very pale, but 
very beautiful, and evidently knowing a great deal more about 
the intruder than she cared to say. 

" You miscreant !" cried Edward, as soon as his rage allowed 
him to speak. " And you, madam ; here's a sight for your 
parents ; to take up with such a wretched, maimed, and shabby 
scrub as this — go to ! go to !" 

" To where ?" asked Eleanor, perfectly bewildered. " What 
does this mean?" 

" Mean me no means !" cried Edward. " I love you very 
much, Eleanor, but I really cannot overlook this affair. It is 
unpleasant, I know ; but" — and here he shrugged his shoulders 
— " you must be burnt. I regret to see a lady and a queen in 
such a disgraceful position, and I hope it will be a warning to 
you." 

He borrowed this last idea from what he was always accus- 
tomed to say when he was dispensing justice. The queen was 
almost petrified. At first she appeared paralysed with horror, 
then she went into hysterics, then she fainted, and next, upon 
recovering, she swore — not bad words — but oaths of innocence, 
appealing to all the saints she knew, in succession. 

As her endeavour to tear her hair proved a failure — for it was 
very long, and strong, and beautiful, and the quantity she seized 
on would have pulled off her scalp — " Stop !" she cried (as she 
attempted to beat her breast with similar ill luck, by reason of 
the pins in her bodice), " I dreamt a dream last night !" 

" A dream ! Oh ! then I see Queen Mab hath been with 
you," observed the king, with a scarcely suppressed sneer. 

Eleanor had not read Shakspeare, so did not see the allusion ; 
but she sang this ballad — the words of which Percy has handed 
down to us — to an extempore air. Eor it was a great thing 
with the ancient lyrists that they extemporised everything on 
the instant : 

queen Eleanor's lament. 

I dreamt in my Sweven on Thursday eve, 

In my bed wherea3 I laye, 
I dreamt a grype and grimlie beast, 

Had carryed my crowne awaye. 

Saving there came a littel gray hawke, 

A merlin him they call, 
Which untill the grounde did strike the grype 

That dead he down did fall. 



SIE ALDINGAR. 13 

Giffe I were a man, as now I am none, 

A battell wold I prove, 
To fight with that traitor Aldingar : 

Att him I cast my glove. 

The king was touched ; for a pretty woman in tears, with a 
good contralto voice, can do a great deal. So he said he did 
not wish to throw cold water on her destiny (albeit she wished 
he might do so when the time came), but that he would give 
her forty days to find a knight ; if she did not in that time, it 
would be his painful duty to weep over, what would literally 
be, her ashes 

As soon as the grace was accorded, the queen sat up all 
night writing notes to her friends to do what they could do for 
her. And she sent out her heralds all round the country; but 
no one was found willing to come to the chivalric scratch. And 
so twenty days passed, and affairs were getting desperate, when 
her pretty maid of honour, Maude, came and said to her, 

" Gracious lady, I fear that your heralds spend their time in 
wassail-shops, and forget your interests. I know it is not con- 
sidered right for a maiden of eighteen to don man's attire ; but, 
an it please you, I will go forth, and try what I can do." 

The queen did not put much faith in the mission ; but she 
consented. Whereupon Maude went to the guard-room, and 
by dint of her blue eyes and rosy lips, got the warder to fit her 
with some armour. It was a suit that had been made for one 
of the princes when he was young, and with a very slight altera- 
tion of rivets, it fitted tolerably well ; and putting down her 
visor, she took the queen's own white palfrey, and, unattended, 
rode forth with the combined feelings of Joan of Arc and 
Godiva. There was no one to attend her ; and, with only her 
own good cause and spotless honour to protect her, she com- 
menced her search. 

It was a dispiriting journey ; for she had many reasons for 
hoping to prove the queen's innocence, but she found no 
champion. Day by day went by, and her courage sank within 
her, until the twentieth morning arrived, when, heart-broken 
and weary, she sat down by the Thames' side, and unable to 
bear up any longer, began to cry. Do you know the river 
above Maidenhead bridge ? If you do, you will be able to call 
to mind one of the fairest scenes that our sylvan England can 
boast of. Hanging woods so thick with leaves, that the sun- 



14 WILD OATS. 

light can scarcely quiver on the short and glossy turf below, 
come down to the very water's edge, until their lowest branches 
are kissed by the ripple, and the petals of their blossoms spangle 
the blue river in the spring tide. There are long climbing 
avenues of scented firs and cedars, dark even in blazing noon, 
and tortuous walks amidst gnarled and mis-shapen bolls of 
trees, that need every fibre of their withered roots to hold them 
to the slopes they start from. Here and there a cold spring of 
crystal waters forms a clear basin, and gurgles over blue, and 
white, and mottled pebbles, into the Thames. It is a pleasant 
thing in summer to gaze from the heights on the fair expanse 
of river and pasture far below, glittering in the afternoon sun, 
and hear light laughter and stray chords of music flitting 
through the woods. You might travel a long, long way further, 
and, after all your trouble, see nothing that would excite so 
much admiration as the leafy Clifden. 

It was at this fair spot that Maude sat down to rest and cry 
and bathe her small white feet, which her armour had chafed 
and wearied, in the river. As her tears fell fast to mingle with 
the stream, she thought she saw a very tiny boy rise up from 
the spring. She did not like to look at first, for she could per- 
ceive that he was not encumbered with a great deal of clothing 
— in fact, he had only got a girdle on, to which a sword was 
hanging, and this is but a scant costume ; but, recollecting she 
might look at him with an artist's eyes, if she did not with that 
of a common person, she took courage, and stared him full in 
the face. 

" Tou look very miserable, damsel fair," said the tiny boy. 
" What is the matter ?" 

" Alack !" answered Maude, " you can be of no avail." 

" Don't say so," said the child, " till you've heard me. I 
have brought you this sword. Take it, and fight Sir Aldingar 
with it yourself." 

" I !" cried Maude, trembling with flurry. " "Well, my 
goodness!" 

" It is your goodness will protect you," replied the child. 
"And tell the queen to remember her dream — how a little 
merlin saved her from the griffin. Heaven will fend her : so 
mount horse, and away!" 

Having said which, the little boy sank once more into the 
spring and disappeared, leaving not even a ripple on its sur- 
face. Maude was inclined to treat it all as a dream, but she 



SIR ALDINGAR. 15 

still had the sword ; so she once more got on her palfrey, and 
rode back to "Windsor at such a rate, that the wind whistled 
again through her helmet. 

When she got to Eton she found the town quite deserted. 
She met nobody as she went on. There was no tollman at 
Windsor-bridge, so she rode through without paying. One 
person only was in the streets, and he was running up the 
hundred steps as though a mad dog, or a sheriff's officer, or 
any other dreadful animal, was at his heels. Just then she 
heard a trumpet sound from the castle, and she directly knew 
that the queen was in peril ; so, without hesitation, she rode 
right up the hundred steps as well, just as you have seen horses 
at Astley's scale walls and climb mountains ; and, at the top, 
she threw herself off, and ran through the cloister into the lower 
ward. 

No wonder she had seen nobody in the streets. All the 
population had collected there awaiting the queen's ordeal. 
Eleanor herself, pale as death, and dressed all in white, was 
sitting on a very uncomfortable couch of fagots in the ring, 
before a great post; the troubadour, with his banjo hung 
round his neck by way of disgrace, was trembling under a 
gibbet of an awful height ; the king was on a temporary 
throne ; and Sir Aldingar, armed cap-a-pie and sword in hand, 
was marching up and down, waiting for the queen's champion. 

"Tip them another blast, Baldwin," said Edward to his 
herald. 

" They are not worth a blast, sire," replied the herald, not 
meaning anything wrong, although the king started. 

" But for the mere form of the thing," said the king. 

Whereupon the herald blew the last challenge, and then the 
people turned all their attention from the herald to the post. 
But the echoes had scarcely died away in the nooks and corners 
of the castle, when Maude jumped into the ring, as lightly as 
her armour would allow, and threw down her gauntlet at Sir 
Aldingar's feet, at which the people set up a mighty cheer. The 
false steward took up the small glove on the point of his sword, 
and said, contemptuously, 

"What's this?" 

" It is my gage," said Maude. 

"Oh, well! if you wish to fight," observed Sir Aldingar, 
" there is mine." And he threw down his own large gauntlet, 
muttering some joke about the broad and narrow gauge to 



16 WILD OATS. 

prove his coolness. But the joke didn't go, for the people 
knew nothing of railways : they were anxious for the fun to 
begin ; they did not care whether the queen was burnt, or the 
minstrel hung, or the combatants gashed and hacked into 
mincemeat, so long as they saw something. 

The trumpets sounded, and Sir Aldingar flourished his large 
two-handed sword, with which he was reported to have spitted 
six Paynims to a tree in Palestine, when, in the twinkling of a 
bedpost, which is now an obsolete idiosyncrasy of furniture, 
Maude whirled her little sword and cut off both Sir Aldingar' s 
legs at the knees, so that he fell down, so as to say, regularly 
stumped. 

There was a huzza from the vast crowd, followed by a solemn 
pause of intense interest, broken only by the king, who, keep- 
ing his eye upon the turret clock, cried out, "Time!" But 
Sir Aldingar could not come up to it, not having the pluck of 
the renowned Witherington at Chevy Chase. He only called 
for a priest. 

" I confess my guilt," he said, as soon as one came. " I told 
stories, and I have suffered for it. G-ood people," he added, 
addressing the crowd, " take warning by my sad example, which 
has brought me to this shameful end, and never keep bad com- 
pany. I acknowledge the justice of my punishment." 

In half an hour this dying speech had been turned into a 
" Copy of verses," and was printed, and sung amongst the 
crowd. 

And now there was general rejoicing. The king flew to re- 
lease Eleanor, and the royal couple then came down to ask to 
whom they were indebted for a champion ; when Maude took 
off her helmet, and letting her long shining ringlets fall about 
her neck, showed them who she was. My heart ! how the 
people shouted then! and how they threw her the nosegays 
many of them carried, in token of their approbation. And the 
king embraced her — not longer, though, than was proper before 
the queen, and told her she might command whatever boon she 
wished ; upon which she asked for the post Sir Aldingar had 
just resigned, and it was immediately given to her. 

All this time the troubadour had been quite neglected ; but 
Maude no sooner received the appointment than she ran to the 
gallows and led him to the king's feet, exclaiming, as she 
blushed like sunset : 

" Your majesty, he is my old sweetheart. We were be- 



THE LADY TUEXED SERVING-MAN. 17 

trothed before he went to Palestine. Eorgive ns, and we won't 
do so any more." 

" Eise, sir," said the king, as he hit him with his sword ; 
" we will have you under our especial eye. Eleanor, dearest 
love, I have wronged you, but trust I am forgiven. And if 
these kind friends," he added, coming forward to the front of 
his throne, and addressing the people, as if he had been finish- 
ing a play, " will overlook our errors, the performances shall 
never again be repeated." 

There was loud applause ; and the people called for the queen 
and cheered her ; then they called for Maude ; and then for the 
troubadour ; and, lastly, hauled Sir Aldingar's body to the gal- 
lows intended for his victim. There was a tremendous banquet 
at night, at which all the chroniclers got so tipsy that they 
could never give a report of it ; but they remembered, up to a 
certain period, it was excessively jolly. 

So Edward loved his wife again, Maude was happy with her 
troubadour, and " G-od speed all this fayre companie !" 

3. — THE LADY TTTBNED SEBVING-MAtf. 

It is some little time before the reader of ancient romances — 
albeit he has a glossary at the end— can become quite reconciled 
to the notion of all the ladies of the old metrical stories living 
in " bowers." 

And, indeed, our own ideas of bowers, viewed as ordinary 
dwelling-places, are anything but satisfactory, judging from the 
remains of these features of a former age still extant in tea- 
gardens. Eor we do not take a bower to be an arbour or a 
summer-house. It is a structure more purely vegetable and 
airy, such as you might have seen formerly in the realm of the 
Bayswater Elora, before the polypus arms of the new city 
of Hyde Park overran it; pleasant in summer, to be sure, 
with a thatch of clustering canariensis, and twinkling clymatis, 
and deep-tinged, velvety convolvulus, to keep off the sun — or 
even covered with hops or scarlet-runners, but still not suited 
to live in altogether. Eor the miseries attendant in the 
summer upon the humblest meals, even tea, taken in a place of 
this kind, have been made into comic songs; and the bare 
notion of any residence therein, in winter, is such an utter ab- 
surdity that it is not worth a second thought. Akin to this 
lackadaisical tenement is a "residence under the greenwood 

c 



18 WILD OATS. 

tree;" we should imagine, if anything, several degrees more 
uncomfortable from the prolonged drip after a shower. With 
this, however, we have at present less to do ; our business is 
with a " bower" more especially, and the bower of Lady Mabel 
Clifford. 

A long time ago — in that gloriously uncertain period wherein 
the simple affirmation, at just starting, of some one having 
existed, is received as an authority, and shields you from all 
charges of anachronism — a long time ago, Lady Mabel Clifford 
lived on the Border. The Border was considered as the Field- 
lane of Great Britain. All sorts of vagabonds resided there, 
who were wont to rush out at certain times, pick and steal all 
they could, and then go back to their fastnesses, where they 
kept their goods until other stronger authorities, whom they 
were unable to resist, came and took them back again, occa- 
sionally leaving the thieves to dangle in the air from gibbets, 
as the thefts used to do in Field-lane. 

The chronicles tell us that when Lady Mabel's father died — 
who was an old English baron — she became the bride of a young 
knight, and that he, in an architectural spirit of affection, " built 
her a brave bower," in which she lived gaily. Perhaps love 
made it always summer, which, for reasons stated above, was 
to be desired. For then a bower is not such a bad place after 
all, when the scent-laden air murmurs through the quivering 
leaves ; and the white wings of the butterfly flash across its 
opening in the sunlight, which darts, here and there, through 
the light foliage wherever you can catch a glimpse of the deep 
sky, to gild the tinselled insects that hover about it. And then 
all around there is pleasant music of life and summer. Tou 
may listen to the murmur of unseen myriads high up in the 
air, whose song lasts until eventide ; and, about, the buds and 
seed-pods burst and crackle in the glowing light. The river 
tumbles on and gurgles with fairer melody ; the hum of the bee 
has a gentler sound of busy self-content, and every tree be- 
comes an aviary that may not be matched for sweet minstrelsy 
by any art. For a hundred birds shall always sing in har- 
mony, albeit they are heretofore strangers to each other. Per- 
haps it was a bower life, like this, that made Lady Mabel so 
happy. 

But bad times came. Lady Mabel's husband's turn arrived 
to be set upon by the other borderers, upon some hunting ques- 
tion ; for the game-laws, in these rude times, caused almost as 



THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. 19 

many men to be murdered in various ways as they do at present. 
And one night a great party of Scotch chiefs, including the 
Haggis, andM'Chivey of Cheviot, and the fierce Earl of Grab, 
and Sir Hugh Ullerbalow, made what they call a foray ; and 
having fired the residence, they killed Lady Mabel's husband, 
and then burst open the cellar and began to drink, until they 
arrived at that pitch of intoxication assigned, by ancient com- 
parison, to violinists. 

Lady Mabel was very young and beautiful ; and the borderers 
were very rude. As a woman, she knew the first of these facts 
intuitively ; and she had learned the second by report. So she 
determined to fly at once, before they recovered from the 
fumes of their wine ; and she sought her little foot-page to 
accompany her. Alack ! her little foot-page had been hewn down 
as he unwittingly answered the door to the first summons of 
the marauders, and all her other servants had taken the warn- 
ing and left their places at a minute's notice. It would not do 
to risk the journey by herself, just as she was ; so she stole up 
to her page's wardrobe^ and hastily dressed herself, weeping 
and trembling the whiles, in a suit of his clothes. They were 
not too small for her ; for a woman of moderate stature in boy's 
clothes may pass for a very fair page. 

Accounts of female sailors which appear from time to time 
in the newspapers — when the large gooseberries and showers 
of frogs have been too often worked — show us that it is still 
possible for the fair sex to pass themselves off as men. Else, 
supposing the stage to hold the mirror up to nature, we never 
should have suspected the "Little Jockeys," or " Eton Boys," 
or " Gril Biases," or " Little Devils," to be otherwise than what 
they really were ; the pinched-in waists, preposterous figures, 
oddly arranged hair, and utter want of knowing what to do 
with the hands beyond putting them on the waist — an attitude 
a man is never seen in — entirely destroying all illusion. Lady 
Mabel, however, without any hesitation, cut off all her silky 
rippling tresses, keeping only such length as a page might be 
supposed to wear ; and leaving them lying about like so many 
golden snakes upon the ground, fled from the house, she knew 
not whither. 

Nor more do we. Eor the chronicle simply states that she 
"travell'd far through many a land," which is a direction aa 
vague in locality as the period, " once upon a time," is in epoch. 
But we imagine that she arrived at last in one of those pleasant 

c2 



20 WILD OATS. 

legendary countries, with the costume and geography, and 
manners and customs of which Mr. Planche only is well ac- 
quainted — the fairy realms of the Countess d'Anois, in which 
we once so fervently believed — the loss of which bolief has 
been the most chilling attribute of increasing years. Useful 
knowledge is all very right and proper ; but its pleasures do 
not — cannot — equal the gilded ignorance of childhood. "Well, 
Lady Mabel, all wearied with her toil, at last sat down to rest, 
and weep, in the middle of a mighty forest ; and make a very 
frugal meal from beech-nuts and water. Her heart was very 
full — if it had not run over at her eyes, it would have well-nigh 
burst. Everything was gloomy around her. The trees of the 
forest were so tall and thick, that the sunlight never penetrated 
them ; and there were black rocks and gloomy pools in every 
direction. She had parted, too, with all her jewels for food, 
and her shoes were beginning to wear away. It is terrible, 
at the present day, when the first decay of your pet boots 
evinces itself ; but it was much worse in Mabel's case, for 
she knew not where to go for others, and her small white feet 
were not calculated to go without. She thought of all this as 
she lay against the mossy holl of a huge old tree, whose roots 
aboveground made a sort of rustic arm-chair, watching the 
ants running backwards and forwards on their highway, and 
almost wishing she was one of them, to have a home and com- 
panions, until, worn out with her great sorrow, she sobbed 
herself fast asleep. 

She was roused by a great noise of shouting and blowing of 
horns, to which the stoppage at Cheam Grate, coming home from 
the Derby, was nothing ; and, opening her eyes in great terror, 
she found that she was surrounded by a crowd of huntsmen 
and falconers, both horse and foot, and a bevy of beautiful 
ladies on palfreys, with long flowing trains of cloth of gold, 
such as they wear in a circus, when they dance a grand cotillion 
upon horseback. One of the gentlemen who were mounted 
was young and handsome, with a great deal more gold and 
bright things generally upon his dress than any of his fellows. 

" Hillio !" he cried, as he saw Mabel ; " wake up, knavelet, 
and tell us who you are. Some roysterer, I warrant, who 
has been up all night, and is taking it out of the noontide. 
Hillio !" 

First impressions upon waking are usually very hazy affairs. 
Hence, at times, incoherent answers have been given in reply 



THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. 21 

to the servant's knock at the bedroom door, to her great be- 
wilderment, touching on the subjects of the dream thus broken ; 
hence, a doze during a sermon — which, although very wicked, 
cannot be battled with — induces wrong and hurried responses 
when none ought to be made, upon first waking up ; hence, a 
friend to whom you are reading a five-act play of your own, will 
be apt to give loose opinions thereon upon being suddenly 
questioned. And hence, Lady Mabel's first impression was, 
that all her Eorder enemies had followed her to take her pri- 
soner. So, as the horseman's bright dress was the first thing 
that attracted her, and he looked the chief of the party, she 
threw herself at his feet, and cried, 

" Mercy ! mercy ! I implore you !" 

" What for?" replied the king, for such he was — " what for, 
stripling ? For going to sleep ? Gad's my life ! we don't 
punish people here for idle dreaming. If we did, all the trees 
in the forest wouldn't serve to make gibbets for our philo- 
sophers and poets. Who are you, boy ?" 

The last words somewhat reassured Lady Mabel ; for they 
proved that she was not discovered. So she answered, 

" I feared that I was trespassing. I am well born, but my 
family have been unfortunate ; and I am seeking employment." 

" You are a comely lad and well built," said the king ; 
" turn round and let us look at you." 

Lady Mabel blushed deeply. She had beautiful legs, and 
could have held rose-nobles between her knees, calves, and 
ankles all at once ; and knowing they were beautiful, she never 
much cared, in former times, when the wind ruffled her dress 
round the aforesaid ankles ; but that was very different to 
having them stared at in a pair of red moyen-dge page's trunks. 
However, she did as the king ordered, but it was in some con- 
fusion. 

" That will do," said the king, somewhat prepossessed in 
her favour ; and so thought Mabel, by the way, and wondered 
what he would have if it didn't ; for she was a woman, and, as 
such, aware of her beauty. 

" That will do. JNow, what would you like to be ? My 
esquire, to ride after me always ? or the wine-taster, to attend 
on me in the hall ? or will you be my chamberlain ?" 

Lady Mabel hesitated a minute. There were reasons for 
declining the first, and she feared her head would not stand 
the second. She therefore replied, 



22 WILD OATS. 

" An 't please you, I will be your chamberlain." 
" Well, so you shall, boy, so you shall," said the king. 
" Ho ! lords aud ladies, on with the hunt ! Sir Widdicoinbe, 
let the stranger have one of your steeds, for he looks footsore." 
He addressed this speech to the Master of the Horse, who 
had lived with him, and his father, and great-grandfather, in 
that capacity. Mabel felt more uncomfortable than ever. She 
was a capital horsewoman, as all the Border ladies were ; but 
her only notions of riding were connected with the crutch of a 
side-saddle ; for she had never seen the ecuyeres at Franconi's. 
"We must draw a veil over her embarrassment, and merely say 
that she was nearly ridden over in the chase, and before she 
got home, by the ladies, who were all anxious to get near the 
young and handsome stranger. 



Time went on ; the sand of his hour-glass passed like that 
of an egg-boiler, producing the whiles those eccentric actions 
which it does in the toys, only amidst real men and women — 
and Lady Mabel rose into high favour ; for the king had not 
so faithful nor so gentle a servitor. The men about the court 
found fault with the young chamberlain, to be sure, for he 
would not drink with them, nor sit long at their banquets ; but 
the women adored him, which made the men hate him still 
more ; and seeing in the hunt he was ever first, or, if not there, 
by the king's side, they so plotted, that one day they got him 
left behind. 

Lady Mabel had some suspicion that this was unkindly 
meant. She watched the train depart somewhat sorrowfully, 
and then wandered over the castle to find a companion. But 
everybody had left to join the chase. Had the king been 
married, and blessed with a family, and all his relations gone a 
hunting, to get the rabbit-skin of nursery renown wherein to 
rock the darling baby, the party could not have been more 
universal. Even Blanche Angmering, the falconer's daughter, 
who believed — poor simpleton — that the chamberlain was in 
love with her, because Mabel was fond of talking to her when 
her father was out, had scampered off on her pony with the 
rest. But as Mabel sat down awhile in her room to play with 
one or two of the tame hawks, her bright eyes fell upon a 
lady's dress, a new one, just sent home for Blanche by the 
court milliner. In an instant, all her woman's feelings re- 



THE LADY TUBNED SERVING-MAN. 23 

turned. She longed to put on a gown once more ; so, locking 
the door, she hastily undressed, and donned Blanche's new 
robe ; not without some trouble, though, for she had gone 
without stays so long, that it was only with the greatest pains 
she could make the hooks and eyes meet ; and then she put a 
wreath in her hair, and taking up a guitar, sang this little 
song, which we give in Percy's own words: 



My father was as brave a lord 
As ever Europe might afford ; 
My mother was a ladye bright ; 
My husband was a valiant knight. 



And I myself a ladye gay, 
Bedeckt with gorgeous, rich array : 
The happiest ladye in the land 
Had not more pleasure at command. 

m. 

I had my musicke every day, 
Harmonious lessons for to play ; 
I had my virgiDS fair and free, 
Continually to wait on me. 

rv. 

But now, alas ! my husband's dead, 
And all my friends are from me fled ; 
My former days are past and gone, 
And I am now a serving-man. 

u Bravo !" cried a voice outside, as the song concluded. Lady 
Mabel threw down the guitar in terror, as she heard the sound 
of applause from a pair of hands following the exclamation. 

" You can't come in !" she cried, as she ran to the door. 

" Can't !" exclaimed the intruder, whom she at once recog- 
nised as the king. " "Who says I can't go anywhere in my own 
palace, especially when such a voice invites me ? It was a 
fair challenge !" 

And sending the door flying before his shoulders, he pushed 
it into the room, and found Lady Mabel fainting on the otto- 
man, which she had astonished Blanche by assisting to work. 
In her fear she looked more beautiful than ever. The denou- 
ment is quickly told. The king no sooner saw our heroine in 



24 WILD OATS. 

her proper habiliments, than he fell desperately in love with her. 
Evil tongues whispered that he had returned from the chase, 
under pretence of fatigue, to flirt with Blanche upon the sly, 
for he bore the character of being — what all young, handsome, 
single kings must be, if they have any spirits — un peu roue. It 
was furthermore asserted that, not being too constant in his 
attachments wherever a new beauty was concerned, he pressed 
his attentions somewhat too warmly upon Lady Mabel. But 
her behaviour was so noble, that the king bethought himself 
how admirably she would grace his throne ; and, after a very 
short consideration, he offered her his hand and his heart. 
Both were accepted ; and so, from a serving-man, Lady Mabel 
became a queen, and she and her royal husband, in the good 
old fairy fashion, " lived happily together all the rest of their 
days until they died." 

Now for the Moral : for if you care to look for it, you will 
find one in all our old legends, far more pleasantly and kindly 
set forth than by crabbed, acrid essayists of the present day. 
In the mantle of Lady Caradoc was shown a good conscience ; 
in the sword of Sir Aldingar's fair adversary, the cause of 
right ; and in the adventure of Lady Mabel, the bright destiny, 
never far distant, when everything around us wears its dreariest 
hue. 



( 25 ) 



II. 

BEDFOKDIA. 

Neitheb Mr. Peter Cunningham nor Mr. John Timbs, in 
their excellent books about London, have done becoming jus- 
tice to tbe varied district of Bedfordia. "Why not " Bed- 
fordia ?" It has as much right to have a square for its sponsor 
as any other region more favoured by patrician homes. Bel- 
gravia is great in ancestral exclusiveness, and Tyburnia weighty 
in successful commerce, and Bedfordia is equally important — in 
its way. 

I would define Bedfordia as somewhat freely bounded on 
the east by the Foundling Hospital, and on the west by that of 
Middlesex. Northwards, the New-road forms its frontier ; and 
to the south, the rolling tide of Oxford- street prevents its 
respectability running astray in St. Giles's. Its inhabitants 
would repudiate Tottenham-court-road if they could, but it is 
impossible. It is the great artery of the quarter ; and were it, 
in surgical phrase, "taken up," no other branches could carry 
on the circulation of vitality into the contiguous component 
members. 

It comprises several squares besides the one from which it 
takes its name. The frigid Fitzroy, the respectable Russell, 
the bland Bloomsbury, and the two- windowed Torrington, ven- 
tilate its atmosphere. A large portion of its inhabitants live as 
they choose ; an equally large portion live as they can. Bussell- 
square is the region of the first class ; Bathbone-place of the 
second. 

Let us consider the first. Possibly nowhere else in London 
is the conventional mechanism of set social life so gravely ob- 
served. The heavy morning call in the heavier carriage — the 
raide routine of the society altogether — the grim grind of the 
dull dinner-parties — the belief that certain articles can only be 
procured at certain shops, and those the most expensive — the 
creed that establishes the importance of the tongue and brains 
of Gunter on the table over the tongues and brains of anybody 
round it — the immature French beans in April, only because 



26 WILD OATS. 

they are dear — the drawing-room table with the same books 
and articles on it, in the same places, from year to year — the 
loss what to say next in conversation, and the leaden platitude 
that it turns out to be when it is said — the pompous, empty 
arrogance of disbelief in the immeasurable self-relying supe- 
riority of artistic and literary life, — all these attributes, and 
thousands of others that their combined influence, acting to- 
gether, produce, characterise " the Squares." 

I have terribly dull recollections connected with " the 
Squares." I had all sorts of relations living all about them 
when I was a child at school, and I used to dine with one or 
the other on Sunday. It was not lively. However fine the 
morning might be, the heavy carriage always took us to the 
Foundling Chapel, which was close at hand ; for, but for this, how 
could other people see the carriage ? And I had, after this, to 
walk round and round long tables, and see small children eat 
graviless boiled beef off wooden plates ; and my relations used 
to think it such a pretty condescension if they — being governors 
and coming in their carriages — tasted a piece of boiled beef and 
pronounced it very good. And having done this, they would 
look round and smile complacently, as if they had achieved a 
feat ; in the same way as I have seen feeble persons do upon 
crossing the road, or entering an omnibus or railway. The 
sight of these little children dining would have been pretty 
enough once in its way, but it bored me on constant repetition. 
And it bored my relations, too ; they did not derive a grain of 
amusement from it ; but it is considered " the thing" in " the 
Squares" to go to the Foundling ; and so they wished " to afford 
an opportunity to all classes" — as they say at an exhibition 
'when it does not pay at a shilling and is reduced to sixpence — 
to see them there. Not, however, that reduction of price had 
anything to do with them. On the contrary, if their price of 
admission as a governor, as painted in the dull gold letters on 
the black board with the names attached, had been doubled, 
they would have liked " all classes" to have seen them better. 

The ordinary books on the drawing-room table were always 
removed on Sundays, and replaced by religious ones, which, like 
their predecessors, were never opened. People called after 
luncheon, and then the Observer — that effete and musty old 
newspaper, which still seems to be taken in by people who 
prefer ancient mould candles to moderator lamps, and gives you 
an impression that the united ages of its editor, leader writers, 



BEDFORDIA. 27 

reporters, and correspondents, must amount to many hundreds 
— was put behind the sofa cushions. As the merest boy, I was 
struck with the twaddle the visitors talked; they told one 
another things that had been in the newspapers days before, and 
were especially particular in inquiring after persons I knew 
they did not care twopence about ; and when at last they said, 
""Well, we must go now," I wondered how it was that the 
necessity of departure had not struck them all before. Some 
friends did not come in, but merely left cards ; they were 
sensible people, and had considerably the best of it. The po- 
sition of their cards in the large china dish depended, in a 
great measure, upon who they were. There was a fat, wheezing 
man, who had been knighted in the City sometime, with a 
fall-blown lady, and who gave heavy dinners, and was very 
rich, and could procure anything for money except his h's. He 
was a great card, actually and metaphorically, and was always 
at the top of the dish. I dined once at his house ; it was a 
solemn and dismal banquet. At one time, for three minutes at 
least not a word was said — not even a platitude was launched. 
The servants stalked round the table, and gravely croaked 
" Hock or sherry ?" in your ear ; and there was really nothing 
left, after you had crumbled all your bread away in despera- 
tion, but to drink ; and so I took to it for the remainder of the 
feast. Once I tried to make a little diversion to the dreari- 
ness, by offering to bet that there was always more false hair 
at the Opera on the nights of " Don Giovanni" than at any 
other representation of the season (which there always is, and 
I can't tell why), but the attempt was a failure. "When we 
went up-stairs, a lady who could not sing tootled out some- 
thing, half inaudibly, at a piano that must have cost two 
hundred guineas at least. Then came a dead pause, and the 
mistress of the house said, " Oh, thank you — it is so very kind 
of you;" and somebody near the instrument, obliged to say 
something, asked whose song it was ; and on being told, was no 
wiser. Then came another pause ; and then, as I felt strangely 
inclined, from simple oppression, to stamp and yell, and smash 
the costly tea-service that the servant was bringing round, by 
kicking the tray up into the air, as a relief to my bottled-up 
feelings, I hurried out of the room, and hurrahed to find myself 
once more upon the free and common pavement. 

Once leave " the Squares," and the population of the streets 
of Bedfordia is more varied than that of any other department in 



28 WILD OATS. 

London. It is, par excellence, the " Quartier des Arts." Erom 
the varied struggling for a livelihood in Kathbone-place, to the 
academical aspirations of Upper Charlotte-street, there is not 
a floor that does not boast an " artiste" as an occupant. Heaven 
only knows how a great part of these folk live ! Not the 
painters who cut large bits out of the fronts of houses over the 
windows ; nor the sculptors who have roomy studios behind, 
opening into the mews, with the same dusty old plaster heads, 
and big hands, and casts of human chines hanging about — 
of no earthly use but to look professional, as tea-dealers dis- 
play mandarins and Chinese lanterns — not these clever folks, 
who are more or less established, but the " professors." Pro- 
fessors swarm hereabouts. They teach the accordion, and model 
in leather, and have classes for dancing, French, wax flowers, 
potichomachie, the guitar, photography, and dress-making. They 
sell cheap music, and clean gloves, and paint on glass, and dye 
dresses, and work in hair, and deal in Berlin-wool, and open 
and close small cigar shops, and retail fancy letter-paper and 
perforated pasteboard, and songs with piratical frontispieces, 
shilling books, whereof, like a dancing-show at a fair, the best 
part is outside, and fancy writiDg-paper. In fact, they would 
form, together, the storehouse of that hopeless suburban and 
semi-marine establishment known as a " Repository" — one of the 
havens provided for commercial wrecks. Tor as the Chinese 
proverb perhaps says, "the barber must be taught his call- 
ing, but the repository and the wine-trade require no appren- 
ticeship :" a terse conception of that sagacious and practical 
people. 

If I were asked to name the chief productions of Bedfordia, 
I should say, " Concerts !" The people who pay the half-guinea 
for tickets, and the professors who sell them, are alike natives 
of the district. With the exception of private teaching, this 
is the only case in which the two classes of the population have 
much intercourse with each other, and the results of this even 
are visible only out of the district, except the anomalous ga- 
therings of the Music Hall in Store- street. The concert Bed- 
fordia mostly approves is in the kindly-granted private house 
of the West-end : when the bedroom chairs descend to the 
drawing-room, and the more movable knick-knacks go up-stairs 
for the day in exchange : for safety from breakage, however, be 
it understood, rather than another danger. 

I say "the Squares" mainly support these concerts. The 



BEDFORDIA. 29 

usual habitues of the mansion have been too often bored, and 
stifled, and crushed in the rooms ; but when Lady de Eobinson 
kindly allows Signor Dolce Eeroce to hold his matinee at her 
residence, "the Squares" love to go, because, for the time, 
they fancy themselves on visiting terms with the establishment, 
and when they speak of it afterwards, they say " they were at 
Lady de Robinson's concert on Thursday," as if her ladyship 
gave it. The Signor is thus ignored altogether. But he gets, 
in this case, his guinea a ticket just the same ; which, at first 
sight, may appear a great deal for three hours of heated har- 
mony, occasionally supplied in greater perfection, and more 
commodiously, by St. James's, or St. Martin's Hall, for a small 
fraction of that sum ; but as for every ticket sold, eight or ten 
are given away to eligible people with nice bonnets to " dress" 
the room and crowd it, and make it appear to the outer world 
that the Signor is run after by admiring mobs, the price per 
head comes to about the same thing in the end. 

That Bedfordia is gradually decaying there cannot be the 
least doubt. It has been for some time the " sick man " of 
the London quarters. As the corners of its streets have gra- 
dually turned into shops, so has its commercial spirit extended, 
stealing on from house to house, as the dining-room windows 
are one after the other knocked into shop-fronts. I see more 
bills of " apartments to let" about, and I am told that board- 
ing-houses are on the increase. I believe this to be true ; for 
on fine afternoons I see at the drawing-room windows, not one, 
but two or three of those peculiar caps which only ladies at 
boarding-houses wear. If, however, this innovation forces new 
sentiments into " the Squares ;" if it teaches them that Verey's 
ices are as good as Grange's ; that dragging round the Park 
every afternoon is but a ghastly business of show-off, with the 
lovely environs of London available ; that literary people are 
not all " strange sorts of persons ;" that two or three of their 
favoured watering-places are only bare, chalky, glaring, leafless 
leagues of pretence, and that they might go to the Pyrenees 
for the same money ; that heavy plate on the table does not 
compensate for heavier people around it ; and that the vulgar 
old woman with the diamonds and rings who sits next to you 
is worlds and worlds below the nice governess who has not ap- 
peared, but is having a dreary time with the children in the 
schoolroom, — if the change effects all this, and much more in 
Bedfordia, no amount of administrative reform will ever equal 
it in value. 



( 30 ) 



III. 

A WINTER'S NIGHT WITH MY OLD BOOKS, CHIEFLY 
CONCERNING GHOSTS AND PRODIGIES. 

When the weather is cold and the evenings at their longest 
— when the day closes in at half-past three, and one dines early, 
because one does not know what else to do ; and afterwards 
piles up such a fire that, no matter how many candles are 
lighted, the flashing glow on the ceiling, and glass, and picture- 
frames overcomes them — at this cozy season I sometimes have 
a, small party. My visitors are not numerous. They come at 
the minute I wish for them, and depart with equally agreeable 
rapidity. They do not cost me anything to entertain. They 
are not " fast," up-to-the-time fellows, but grave, and even 
shabby in their appearance ; such as many would not like to be 
seen in their rooms. We have, however, been friends for many 
years ; and they have, in times of vexation and fretting, given 
me more consolation than several others upon whom I might 
with more plausibility have reckoned. In a word, they are a 
few favourite red-edged, round-cornered, musty old books. 

I have not many; bibliomania is an expensive passion to 
indulge in, and will affect a large income ; but where that in- 
come is fished with a steel pen from the bottom of an inkstand, 
with the same slippery incertitude that attends the spearing of 
eels in a muddy pond, the taste is, of necessity, entirely kept 
down. And so I am content with a very few, that have 
come to me as heirlooms rather than purchases, awaiting pa- 
tiently, with the resignation of the ITying Dutchman's wife, 
the time when the long-expected ship shall come in that con- 
tains my fortune. 

It so happens that the few old books I have treat almost 
entirely either of ghosts or prodigies. How our good ancestors 
contrived to live in full possession of their wits in those old 
haunted-looking houses, with so many accredited instances in 
their popular literature of unearthly visitors calling upon them 
at all times, is, in itself, a marvel. How they ever found them- 
selves alone in their tall, ghastly beds, with the moon shining 
through the mullioned windows upon the tapestry, as she rose 
over the yew-trees of the adjoining churchyard, without dying 



A winter's night with my old books. 31 

with fright then and there, is matter for serious discussion. Now, 
it is true, ghosts have somewhat declined in position ; not but 
that I still devoutly believe in them, but circumstances are not 
so favourable to their appearance. In the country they would 
shun spots where the gleam and stream of the mail- train might 
disturb their importance ; and in London they would hate the gas- 
light shining through the bedroom blinds; the rattling of the cabs 
going home with late roysterers ; and, at this their own season, 
the waits playing the Eclipse Polka, as well as the cornet-a-pis- 
tons in the cold can imitate the great fluttering solo of Koenig, 
Arban, or Macfarlane. Ghosts have never been in force in 
London. I can't tell what you might see if you were shut up 
all night by yourself in "Westminster Abbey; but certainly 
they eschew the squares, and have a horror of hotels. To be 
in a cellar at midnight might formerly have been considered a 
favourable position for meeting one. Imagine the chance a 
spectre would have at twelve p.m., in the Cyder Cellars ! But 
to our subject more directly. 

The smallest of my books, looking like a withered old gentle- 
man, is entitled, " Miscellanies, collected by J. Aubrey, Esq." 
Its title-page of contents, amongst which we find "Appari- 
tions," " Omens," "Voices," "Knockings," " Corpse Candles," 
and other " shudderish" subjects, bespeaks its tendency. It is, 
I think, the only published work of the author. 

Aubrey must have been on excellent terms with ghosts ge- 
nerally. It is somewhat strange, considering the high respect 
in which he held them, that none ever paid him a visit. He 
has, however, no story of his own to recount ; but he evidently 
believes in all the narrations as though he had been the hero 
of them ; and it was on this account that Gilford somewhat 
ill-naturedly called him " a credulous fool." One of his notes, 
under the head of Majich, will cause a smile. It runs as fol- 
lows: 

" In Herefordshire, and other parts, they do put a cold iron 
bar upon their barrels, to preserve their beer from being soured 
by thunder. This is a common practice in Kent." 

Modern science has attributed this remedy to other causes 
than " majick ;" indeed, " progress" has sadly upset the wizards. 
Mephistopheles himself, when he tapped the table to bring forth 
wine for the students, would have been quenched altogether by 
Eobert-Houdin and his inexhaustible bottle. Take another : 

" There was in Scotland one (an obsessus) carried in 

the air several times in the view of several persons, his fellow- 



32 WILD OATS. 

soldiers. Major Henton hath seen him carry' d away from the 
guard in Scotland, sometimes a mile or two. Sundry persons 
are living now (1671), that can attest this story. I had it 
from Sir Eobert Harley (the son), who marryed Major Hen- 
ton's widow ; as also from E. T. D. D." 

And next to it : 

" A gentleman of my acquaintance, Mr. M., was in Portu- 
gal, anno 1655, when one was burnt by the Inquisition for 
being brought thither from Goa in East India, in the air, in 
an incredible short time." 

Wonderful as these events must have been at the time, a 
shilling will procure us a similar spectacle on fine summer 
Monday afternoons at Cremorne Gardens, when Mr. Green not 
only carries away one, but a dozen with him in the air. And 
certainly no Essex Inquisition would now think of condemning 
to be burnt all "intrepid aeronauts" who come in fifteen 
minutes from Chelsea to Chelmsford, for which latter neigh- 
bourhood descending balloons appear to have a great predilec- 
tion. 

Following up the " Majick," we have a less satisfactory re- 
ceipt than that for the thunder : 

" To Cuke the Thbush. — Take a living frog, and hold it in 
a cloth, that it does not go down into the child's mouth, and 
put the head into the child's mouth till it is dead." 

It is not here clearly explained whether the death of the 
child or the frog puts an end to the thrush. The following is 
more simple, and at all events harmless : 

" To Cure the Toothache. — Take a new nail and make 
the gum bleed with it, and then drive it into an oak. This did 
cure William Neal, Sir William Weal's son, a very stout gentle- 
man, when he was almost mad with the pain, and had a mind 
to have pistoll'd himself." 

The cure that an inflamed gum might receive from this rude 
lancing is not hinted at. Going on, we find it clearly shown 
why the steel horseshoe now hangs from the glittering chatelaine 
of our most fashionable West-end belles, to which enviable po- 
sition, it will be seen, they have been promoted from the door- 
steps : 

" It is a thing very common to nail horseshoes on the 
thresholds of doors, which is to hinder the power of witches that 
enter into the house. Most houses of the West-end cf London 
have the horseshoe on the threshold. It should be a horseshoe 



A winter's night with my old books. 33 

one finds. In the Bermudas they used to put an iron into the 
fire when a witch comes in." 

We do the latter thing in England, on the entrance of a 
friend, to give him a cheerful blaze. The next receipt, I think 
I may safely affirm, is no longer practised : 

" At Paris, when it begins to thunder and lighten, they do 
presently ring out the bell at the Abbey of St. Germain, which 
they do believe makes it cease. The like was wont to be done 
heretofore in Wiltshire ; when it thundered and lightened, they 
did ring St. Adelms bell at Malmsbury Abbey. The curious 
do say that the ringing of bells exceedingly disturbs spirits." 

It certainly exceedingly disturbed mine when I once lived 
opposite to a country church where the "youths" were wont 
to ring triple-major-bobs, or whatever they called them, twice 
a week. The subject is, however, worth investigation. Per- 
haps by it may be accounted for how it happens always to be 
such serene and lovely weather on the Queen's festival days, 
and a new fact in meteorology opened to us. 

As regards matrimon}^, Aubrey had collected many secrets : 
" The last summer," he says, " on the day of St. John Baptist 
(1694), I accidently was walking in the pasture behind Mon- 
tague House. It was xii a clock. I saw there about two or 
three and twenty young women, most of them well habited, 
on their knees, very busie, as if they had been weeding. I 
could now presently learn what the matter was ; at least, a 
young man told me that they were looking for a coal under the 
root of a plantain to put under their heads that night, and they 
should dream who would be their husbands ; it was to be found 
that day and hour." 

Again : " To know whom one shall marry, you must be in 
another county, and knit the left garter about the right legg'd. 
stocking (let the other garter and stocking alone), and as you 
rehearse these following verses, at every comma knit a knot : 

This knot I knit 

To know the thing I know not yet 

That I may see 

The man (woman) that shall my husband (wife) be 

How he goes, and what he wears, 

And what he does all the days. 

Accordingly, in your dream you will see him ; if a musitian, 
with a lute or other instrument ; if a scholar, with a book, &c. 
A gentlewoman that I knew confessed, in my hearing, that she 



34 WILD OATS. 

used this method, and dreamt of her husband whom she had 
never seen; about two or three years after, as she was on 
Sunday at church, up pops a young Oxonian in the pulpit ; she 
cries out presently to her sister, ' This is the very face of the 
man I saw in my dream.' Sir William Somes lady did the 
like." 

Under the head Apparitions, is the following paragraph, 
which is, perhaps, better known than most of Aubrey's collec- 
tion : 

" Anno 1670, not far from Cyrencester, was an Apparition ; 
being demanded whether a good spirit or a bad ? returned no 
answer, but disappeared with a curious perfume and most melo- 
dious- twang. Mr. W. Lilly believes it was a farie." 

This is certainly unsatisfactory ; the locality is hazily denned, 
and the detail not well filled up. But the fact that " Mr. W. 
Lilly" believed it to be a "farie" was quite sufficient. Hitherto 
we have selected the most ridiculous of Aubrey's miscellanies, 
but we now come to some which, at all events, are well authen- 
ticated. And first, under the head of Dreams : 

" Sir Christopher "Wren, being at his father's house, anno 
1651, at Knahill, in Wilts (a young Oxford scholar), dreamt 
that he saw a fight in a great market-place, which he knew not, 
where some were flying and others pursuing ; and among those 
that fled, he saw a kinsman of his who went into Scotland to 
the king's army. They heard in the country that the king 
was come into England, but whereabout he was they could not 
tell. The next night his kinsman came to his father, at Knahill, 
and was the first that brought the news of the fight at Wor- 
cester." 

Sir Christopher, in all probability, told this story himself to 
Aubrey ; at all events, he lived twenty years after the publica- 
tion of the book. The chronicler also received the following 
nearly first hand. There is, however, little that is supernatural 
in it, but its quaintness is most diverting : 

" Dr. Twiss, minister of the new church at Westminster, 
told me that his father (Dr. Twiss, Prolocutor of the Assembly 
of Divines, and author of Vindicics), when he was a schoolboy 
at Winchester, saw the Phantome of a schoolfellow of his 
deceased (a rakehell), who said to him, ' I am damned.' This 
was the occasion of Dr. Twiss (the father's) conversion, who 
had been before that time (as he told his son) a very wicked 
boy. (He was hypochondriacal.)" 

The one or two more stories that we shall steal from Aubrey 



a wintee's night with my old books. 35 

are of a serious character, really " ghost stories," well attested, 
and inexplicable : 

" Anno 1647," he says, " the Lord Mohun's son and heir (a 
gallant gentleman, valiant, and a great master of fencing and 
horsemanship) had a quarrel "with Prince Griffin ; there was a 
challenge, and they were to fight on horseback in Chelsey-fields 
in the morning ; Mr. Mohun went accordingly to meet him ; 
but about Ebury Earm he was met by some who quarrell'd 
with him and pistol' d him ; it was believed by the order of 
Prince Griffin ; for he was sure that Mr. Mohun, being so 
much the better horseman, &c, would have killed him, had 
they fought. In James-street in Covent-garden did then lodge 
a gentlewoman, who was Mr. Mohun's sweetheart. Mr. Mo- 
hun was murthered about ten a-clock in the morning ; and at 
that very time, his mistress being in bed, saw Mr. Mohun come 
to her bed-side, drew the curtain, looked upon her, and went 
away ; she called after him, but no answer ; she knocked for 
her maid, ask'd her for Mr. Mohun; she said, she did not see 
him, and had the key of her chamber-door in her pocket. This 
account my friend, aforesaid, had from the gentlewoman's own 
mouth, and her maid's. A parallel story to this, is, that Mr. 
Brown (brother-in-law to Lord Coningsby) discovered his 
being murthered to several. His Phantome appear' d to his 
sister and her maid in Fleet-street, about the time he was 
killed in Herefordshire, which was about a year since, 1693." 
In the following is ground for a good romance : 
" Sir "Walter Long, of Draycot (grandfather of Sir James 
Long), had two wives; the first a daughter of Sir — Packin- 
ton in Worcestershire ; by whom he had a son : his second wife 
was a daughter of Sir John Thinne of Longleat ; by whom he 
had several sons and daughters. The second wife did use much 
artifice to render the son by the first wife (who had not much 
Promethean fire) odious to his father ; she would get her ac- 
quaintance to make him drunk ; and then expose him in that 
condition to his father ; in fine, she never left of her attempts, 
till she got Sir "Walter to disinherit him. She laid the sceoe 
for the doing this at Bath, at the assizes, where was her brother 
Sir Egrimond Thinne, an eminent serjeant-at-law, who drew 
the writing ; and his clerk was to set up all night to engross 
it ; as he was writing, he perceived a shadow on the parchment 
from the candle ; he look'd up, and there appear' d a hand, 
which immediately vanished; he was startl'd at it, but thought 

n2 



36 WILD OATS. 

it might be only his fancy, being sleepy ; so he writ on ; by- 
and-by, a fine white hand interposed between the writing and 
the candle (he could discern it was a woman's hand), but 
vanish'd as before ; I have forgot, it appeared a third time ; but 
with that the clerk threw down his pen, and would engross no 
more, but goes and tells his master of it, and absolutely refused 
to do it. But it was done by somebody, and Sir Walter Long 
was prevailed with to seal and sign it. He lived not long after; 
and his body did not go quiet to the grave, it being arrested at 
the church-porch by the trustees of the first lady. The heir's 
relations took his part, and commenced a suit against Sir 
Walter (the second son), and compell'd him to accept a moiety 
of the estate ; so the eldest son kept South- Wranchester, and 
Sir Walter, the second son, Dracot, Cernes, &c. This was about 
the middle of the reign of King James the First." 

With one more we shall lay Aubrey aside ; this is the more 
interesting, as it has relation to a well-known event in our 
history : 

" One Mr. Towes, who had been schoolfellow with Sir George 
Viller3, the father of the first Duke of Buckingham (and was his 
friend and neighbour), as he lay in his bed awake (and it was 
daylight), came into his chamber the phantome of his dear 
friend Sir George Villers. Said Mr. Towes to him, * Why, 
you are dead, what make you here ?' Said the knight, ' I am 
dead, but cannot rest in peace for the wickedness and abomina- 
tion of my son George at court. I do appear to you to tell him 
of it, and to advise and exhort him from his evil ways.' Said 
Mr. Towes, ' The duke will not believe me ; but will say that I 
am mad or doat.' Said Sir George, ' Go to him from me, and 
tell him by such a token (some mole) that he had which none 
but himself knew of.' Accordingly, Mr. Towes went to the 
duke, who laughed at his message. At his return home, the 
phantome appeared again, and told him that ' the duke would 
be stabbed (he drew out a dagger) a quarter of a year after, 
and you shall outlive him half a year. And the warning that 
you shall have of your death will be, that your nose will fall a- 
bleeding ;' all of which accordingly fell out so. This account 
I have had (in the main) from two or three; but Sir William 
Dugdale affirms what I have here taken from him to be true, 
and that the apparition told him of several things to come, 
which proved true ; e.g. of a prisoner in the Tower that should 
be honourably delivered. This Mr. Towes had so often the 
ghost of his old friend appear to him, that it was not at all 



a winter's night with my old books. 37 

terrible to liim. He was surveyor of the works at Windsor 
(by favour of the duke). Being then sitting in the hall, he 
cried out, ' The Duke of Buckingham is stabbed !' He was 
stabbed that very moment." 

Next to Aubrey on my shelves — of the same octavo form, 
but far stouter in appearance, so that the two books look like 
an alderman and a genius side by side — is Glanvil's Saducis 
onus Triumphatus. It differs from Aubrey's work, inasmuch 
as the former is merely a string of collected anecdotes, im- 
perfectly arranged, and printed one after the other ; whereas 
Glanvil devotes half his book to metaphysical arguments upon 
the possibility of apparitions : and in his collection of rela- 
tions, to each of them he adds some comments. It is a re- 
gular, downright, hair-erecting ghost-book, one only to be 
read, except by strong-minded persons, in the daytime, and 
in company ; and even then with the prospect of a bed- 
fellow. I was a child when I first read it, and at that time 
it was the most entrancing book I ever came upon. But I paid 
dearly for the interest it excited. Eor a long season I used 
to lie trembling in bed for hours, as I pondered on the awful 
stories it contained. They are mostly too long to extract here, 
but I remember the relation of the chest with the three locks, 
which opened one after the other at the foot of Mr. Bourne's 
bed just before he died ; and also how the Earl of Donegal's 
steward, Taverner, riding home, was passed at night on the 
high road by the likeness of James Haddock, who had been 
dead five years, and who was now mounted on a horse that 
made no noise ; how this spectre wished him to set a will case 
to rights ; and how it haunted him night and day, alone and in 
company, until he did. There was also a fearful tale of the 
gashed and bleeding likeness of old Mr. Bowes, of Guildford, 
appearing to a criminal in prison, which led to the apprehen- 
sion of the real murderers, as related by Mr. Onslow, a j ustice 
of peace in the neighbourhood. And another ghost (also at 
Guildford, of which place, by the way, I shall have to recite my 
own ghost story presently), who got back some land to the 
rightful people by appearing to the usurper at a stile, over 
which he had to pass one evening, going across a field. This 
last haunted me out of doors as well as within. There was a 
wooden bridge, with a stile in the middle of it, over a bourne, 
in the middle of the long, lonely fields, between Chertsey and 
Thorpe, which I always associated with the apparition ; and 
when, as sometimes chanced, I was sent with medicine for 



38 WILD OATS. 

some urgent case at the latter village, and it was growing dusk 
at my return, my heart absolutely quaked within me as I got 
near the stile. I always expected to see a grey, transparent 
dead man opposing my passage ; and this feeling grew upon me 
so, that at last I preferred to go round the long roadway, even 
skirting the dark fir copses of St. Anne's hill in preference ; 
for one might meet a donkey-cart there by chance, or haply the 
postman ; but in Thorpe fields, except on Saturday night, when 
the people came to our town to buy things, the solitude was 
awful. In the latter case they generally went home "jolly ;" 
and the walk on such an evening then became a matter of great 
glory to me. My nightly fears, through reading Grlanvil, were 
equally acute, and they lasted over a longer space of time. The 
only occasions on which I slept calmly, were when the people 
came to brew ; and then the clanking of the pails, the chopping 
of the wood, and the poking of the fires, kept up all night long, 
made it very pleasant. 

One of the most fearful stories in Grlanvil's book is not in 
his narrations, but in a prefatory letter by Dr. H. More, who 
edited the work, and is well told as follows : 

"About the year of our Lord 1632, near unto Chester in the 
Street, tliere lived one Walker, a yeoman-man of good estate, 
and a widower, who had a young woman to his kinswoman that 
kept his house, who was by the neighbours suspected to be about 
to become a mother, and was towards the dark of the evening one 
night sent away with one Mark Sharp, who was a Collier, or one 
that digged coals under ground, and one that had been born in 
~Blakehum-htcndred in Lancashire ; and so she was not heard of 
a long time, and no noise or little was made about it. In the 
winter-time after one James Graham, or Grime {for so in that 
country they call them), being a miller, and living about two miles 
from the place ivhere Walker lived, was one night alone very 
late at the mill grinding corn; and as, about twelve or one 
6 'clock at night, he came down the stairs from having been put- 
ting com in the hopper, the mill-doors being shut, there stood a 
zvoman upon the midst of the floor, with her hair about her head, 
lianging down and all bloody, with five large wounds on her head. 
He being much affrighted and amazed, began to bless him, and 
at last asked her who she was, and what she wanted ? To 
which she said, 1 1 am the spirit of such a woman, who lived 
with Walker ; and he promised to send me to a place where I 
should be well look't to until I should come again and keep 
his house. And accordingly,' said the apparition, ' I was one 



a winter's NIGHT WITH MY OLD BOOKS. 39 

night late sent away with one Hark Sharp, who, upon a Moor 
(naming a place that the miller knew), slew ine with a pick 
(such as men dig coals with), and gave me these five wounds, 
and after threw my body into a coal-pit hard by, and hid the 
pick under a bank ; and his shoes and stockings being bloudy, 
•he endeavoured to wash ; but seeing the blood would not wash 
forth, he hid them there.' And the apparition further told the 
miller, that he must he the man to reveal it, or else that she must 
still appear and haunt him. The miller returned home very sad 
and heavy, out spoke not one word of what he had seen, out 
eschewed as much as he could to stay in the mill within night 
without company, thinking thereby to escape the seeing again of 
that frightful apparition. But, notwithstanding, one night, when 
it began to be dark, the apparition met him again, and seemed 
very fierce and cruel, and threatened him, that if he did not reveal 
the murder, she would continually pursue, and haunt him. Yet, 
for all this, lie still concealed it until St. Thomas's eve before 
Christmas, when being soon after sunset walking on in his garden, 
she appeared again, and then so threatened him, and affrighted 
him, that he faithfully promised to reveal it next morning. 

" In the morning he went to a magistrate, and made the whole 
matter known, with all the circumstances ; and diligent search 
being made, the body was found in a coal-pit, ivith five zoounds 
in the head, and the pick, and shoes and the stockings yet bloudy, 
in every circumstance as the apparition had related to the miller. 
Whereupon Walker and Mark Sharp were both apprehended, 
biot would confess nothing. At the Assizes following (I think it 
was at Durham), they were arraigned, found guilty, condemned, 
and executed, but I could never hear that they confessed the fact. 
There were some that reported that the apparition did appear 
to the Judge or the Foreman of the Jury (who ivere alive in 
Chester in the Street about ten years ago, as 1 have been cre- 
dibly informed), but of that I knoiv no certainty. 

There are many persons yet alive that can remember this 
strange murder and the discovery of it ; for it ivas, and some- 
times yet is, as much discoursed of in the North country, as any- 
thing that almost hath ever been heard of, and the relation printed, 
though now not to be gotten. I relate this with the greatest con- 
fidence (though I may fail in some of the circumstances), because 
I saw and read the letter that teas sent to Serjeant Hutton, ivho 
then lived at Groldsbrugh, in Yorkshire, from the judge before 
whom "Walker and Mark Sharp were tried, and by ivhom they 
were condemned ; and had a copy of it until about the year 1658, 



40 WILD OATS. 

when I had it and many other hooks arid papers taken from me. 
And this I confess to be one of the most convincing stories {being 
of undoubted verity) that ever I read, heard, or knew of and 
carrieth with it the most evident force to make the most incre- 
dulous spirit to be satisfied that there are really sometimes such 
things as apparitions" 

This horrible story is corroborated further by two of the 
witnesses on the trial, men of credit, before Judge Davenport. 
One of them deposed, on oath, that he saw the likeness of a 
child stand on "Walker's shoulders during the time of the trial, 
at which time the judge was very much troubled, and passed 
sentence that night — a thing never the custom in Durham 
before. Those who have paid any attention to these matters, 
may remember, in our own time, that the body of Maria Martin 
was discovered in the Eed Barn, at Polstead, in consequence 
of her appearing to her parents in a dream. Of course this 
was not mentioned at the trial of her murderer, Corder ; but 
it was known to have been the case. There appears something 
more than nervous fancy or coincidence in this. 

The greater part of Grlanvil's book is taken up with accounts 
of the doings of witches, and of the disturbances in haunted 
houses ; but they are mostly very silly. As regards the first, 
Lady Duff Gordon's admirable translation of " The Amber 
Witch" is far more interesting ; and, for the second, the most 
circumstantial detail does not impress you with a hundredth 
part of the mysterious terror that Hood's Haunted House called 
forth.* 

* In thai fine poem were some half-dozen lines singularly descriptive of the 
scene, which, some time afterwards, the murder of the Duchesse de Praslin 
impressed so forcibly on the public mind. I do not think the coincidence was 
ever noticed. They ran : 

The floor alone retain'd the trace of guilt, 
Those boards obscurely spotted. 

Obscurely spotted to the door, and thence 
"With many doubles to the grated casement — 
Oh, what a tale they told of fear intense, 
Of horror and amazement ! 

What human creature in the dead of night 
Had coursed like hunted hare that cruel distance? 
Had sought the door, the window in the flight, 
Striving for dear existence? 

What shrieking spirit in that bloody room, 
Its mortal frame had violently quitted ? 



a winter's night with my old books. 41 

One more scrap of Grlanvil before we leave him. Dr. More 
says he was accustomed to have an argument on the immor- 
tality of the soul with " an old gentleman in the countrey, an 
excellent justice of peace, and a piece of a mathematician ; but 
what kind of philosopher he was, you may understand from a 
rhyme of his own making, which he commended to me on my 
taking horse in his yard, which rhyme is this : 

Ens is nothing till sense finds it out: 

Sense ends in nothing, so nought goes about ; 

which rhyme of his was so rapturous to himself, that at the 
reciting of the second verse the old gentleman turned him- 
self about upon his toe as nimbly as one may observe a dry 
leaf whisked round in the corner of an orchard-walk by some 
little whirlwind." And with this quaint anecdote we put old 
Glanvil by. 

And from him we turn to a large folio of 1649, teeming with 
excellent woodcuts, whereof all the personages look as if they 
were ready dressed to perform in " The Huguenots," and in 
which the "figures" or "effigies" of the elephant and whale 
appear as wonders, although the well-defined tables of the 
human blood-vessels would scarcely disgrace the ablest ana- 
tomical demonstrator of the present day. This large book con- 
tains the works of Ambrose Pare, who was successively the 
bold and successful surgeon to the French kings, Henry II., 
Francis II., Charles IX., and Henry III., who dressed the 
wounds of the unfortunate Coligni at the time of the terrible 
Bartholomew's Eve, and who, on the night before the massacre, 
was locked up by Charles in his own chamber, that he might 
not be murdered, albeit he was a Protestant. He says little 
about ghosts for a believer in the supernatural, but his " Pro- 
digies" are of the wildest order. He gives pictures of all of them, 
which, I regret, cannot here be reproduced ; and he has these 
illustrated from the slightest descriptions. What he would 
have made of the sea-serpent is difficult to tell. But Pontop- 
pidan had not then been born, nor had the Daedalus been 
launched ; elsewise, in his chapter devoted to " the wondrous 
nature of some marine things," we might have expected an 
account as long as its object. One thing, however, is worthy 
of serious remark in his general " prodigies." Many of them, 
classed on a level with the rest in point of the marvellous, have 
had their fellows in our own time. He pictures a case parallel 
to that of the Siamese twins ; and has also an account of a 



42 WILD OATS. 

child with two heads, similar to the infant that died in Paris in 
1829. He moreover portrays a baby with four arms, four legs, 
and one head, a companion to which died in "Westminster in 
1838, and an account of it appears in the Times of Septem- 
ber 17 in that year. ]Sow, if it is possible for such monsters — 
which take high rank amongst his prodigies — to exist, may not 
the majority of the rest be also matters of likelihood ? 

But to his marvels : and out of compliment to the marine 
monster quoted above, who has made a little stir of late, we 
will commence with some of Ambrose Pare's ocean wonders. 
And first, of two ecclesiastical prodigies : " In our times, saieth 
Rondeletius, in Norway, was a monster taken in a tempestuous 
sea, the which as manie as saw it, presently termed a monk ; and 
Anno Dom. 1531, there was seen a sea-monster, with the head of 
a bear, and feet and hands of an ape ; another, with a lion's head, 
and man's voice ; and one like a man, ' with his countenance 
composed to gravity and his hair yellow,' but a fish from the 
waist downwards, who came one fine morning out of the Kile. 
Others are spoken of as with the ' head, mane, and breast of a 
horse ;' and others, seventy feet long, with heads like swine's." 

But in another story he is more plausible : " Whilst in my 
vineyard," he says. " that is at Meudon, I caused certain huge 
stones to bee broken to pieces, a toad was found in the midst 
of one of them. When as I much admired thereat, because 
there was no space wherein this creature could bee gene- 
rated, increas, or live ; the stone-cutter wished me not to marvel 
thereat, for it was a common thing ; and that hee saw it almost 
everie daie. Certainly it may com to pass, that from the more 
moist portion of stones, contained in places moist and under- 
ground, and the celestial heat mixing and diffusing itself over 
the whole mass of the world, the matters may bee animated for 
the generation of these creatures." 

Reporters who live upon enormous gooseberries and showers 
of frogs, might have amassed large incomes in his time ; for he 
speaks of u great and thick bars of iron which fell from heaven, 
and presently turned into swords and rapiers ;" and also of a 
stone that tumbled from the skies in Hungary, and weighed two 
hundred and fifty pounds. And we find, at three separate 
periods in Italy, it has rained flesh, corn, and milk and oil. 
If any turn in the weather would bring about a like series of 
showers in Ireland occasionally, what a great thing it would be ! 

Ambrose Pare's system of surgery and medicine was won- 



a winter's night with >rr old books. 

derfolly sei hie for the time m which he lived: inuek 
treatment would hold good at the prefer.-: 
however, we may put less trust m him. He as I one tell an 

a his ear t.: ne that the 

danger is immediately oyer." But, he adds, " Oft times there 
is no small sute ret ition in things :'_: plied, 

such as to make pills of one hanged, against the biting a .: i 
mad dog; for any one :: bee free 1 from the :. j»h - b i 
spit in the mouth of a toad, letting her go away alive : or the 
halter wherein one hath been hanged, put about the temples t ; 
helg the headache." He very properly deems all these a ■ 

actions," albeit the devil will sometimes make them 
prosper, to keer :_e — : blared to his service. There 

are many other marvellous history in A _brose Pare, but as 
they are better suited to the medical than the general ear. they 
may be passed over. 

-illy, I mentioned ths : _ ha la . b : st -iherto un- 

shed, to tell about Smldfiow About twenty jearH ago, my 
brothe i Smith, wasa :..:'- :.: :_r grammar-Behc >1 :_ 

town, under the Ber. Mr. Beliin. The boys had been sitting 
up all niglr m their bedroom for a :::_:. md, in the early 

morning, one of therm young 31 , of God a im ing, cried out, 

Why I - swear these a Qae Scenes :: mi old huntsman on 
has grt horse _ :ii-t :. ;i; -- the ■ .i::evashed w:l. Ehe rest 
if the '::_-= : ill Ins he was a fool, and that they had all better 
think about going ti use] After breakfast, a servant came 

i :_ M 'a tanrily :: - :_eir old huntsman had 

been thrown from his horse and killed, early that mtmnn g 
whilst ndiig :he hoMnde 

Leaving :_ r reader to explain this strange afcory, -x-hich may 

M It -ied upon, I put my old books back on their sherteSj and 

-i Em :i i: werj bte | the slock b ticking 

. fa : -:_ _ I : on I. 1 8 if :: wag about to talk, and the furniture 

ely to be growing : Li _ e winlat I amnot help 

thinking that whole hosts of spectres are behind the window- 

I_e : ■ : : _ - :iirmr.i.' ~. 

IbrmJbl nd ilfeog ether I expect, if I do not get to bed 

whilst I ;;n hear somebody moving in the he me the first thing 
that _ see when I open the door to go, will be some dreadful 
apparition standing on the mat at the bottom of the st urease. 



( 44 ) 



IV. 

A REAL COUNTRY GHOST STORY. 

" Graut Liebchen audi ? Der Mond scheint hell ! 
Hurrah ! die Todten reiten schnell ! 
Graut Liebchen auch vor Todten ?" 
" Ach nein! — Doch lass die Todten."_ 

Burger's " Lenore." 

If tlie following narrative were nothing more than a mere 
invention, it would have very little in it to recommend it 
to the notice of the reader ; but detailing, as closely as pos- 
sible may be, some circumstances which actually occurred, and 
which were never accounted for — no case of spectres found to 
be finger-posts or pollards in the morning, nor dim flickering 
lights seen in churchyards at midnight, afterwards proved to 
have been carried by resurrection-men or worm-catchers — it 
may form a fitting addition to the foregoing repertoire of unac- 
countable romances, which, taken from the pages of Glanvil 
and Aubrey, are narrated at this fireside period always in time 
to induce a dread of going to rest, and a yearning for double- 
bedded rooms and modern apartments. 

For our own part, we believe in ghosts. "We do not mean the 
vulgar ghosts of every-day life, nor those of the Richardson 
drama, who rise amidst the fumes of Bengal light burned in a 
fire-shovel, nor the spring-heeled apparitions who every now and 
then amuse themselves by terrifying the natives of suburban 
localities out of their wits. To be satisfactory, a ghost must be 
the semblance of some departed human form, but indistinct and 
vague, like the image of a magic-lantern before you have got 
the right focus. It must emit a phosphorescent light — a 
gleaming atmosphere like that surrounding fish whose earthly 
sojourn has been unpleasantly prolonged ; and it should be as 
transparent and slippery, throwing out as much cold about it, 
too, as a block of sherry-cobbler ice. We would go a great 
way upon the chance of meeting a ghost like this, and should 
hold such a one in great reverence, especially if it came in the 



A REAL COUNTRY GHOST STORY. 45 

dreary grey of the morning twilight, instead of the darkness 
which its class is conventionally said to admire. "We would, 
indeed, allow it to come in the moonlight, for this would make 
its advent more impressive. The effect of a long cold ray stream- 
ing into a bedroom is always terrible, even when no ghosts are 
present to ride upon it. Call to mind, for instance, the ghastly 
shadow of the solitary poplar falling across the brow of Mariana 
in the " Moated Grange," as Alfred Tennyson has so graphically 
described it. 

Once we slept — or rather went to bed, for we lay awake and 
quivering all night long — in an old house on the confines of 
Windsor Forest. Our bedroom faced the churchyard, the yew- 
trees of which swept the uncurtained casement with their 
boughs, and danced in shadows upon the mouldering tapestry 
opposite, which mingled with those of the fabric until the whole 
party of the "long unwashed" thereon worked, appeared in 
motion. The bed itself was a dreadful thing. It was large 
and tall, and smelt like a volume of the Gentleman's Magazine 
for 1746, which had reposed in a damp closet ever since. There 
were feathers, too, on the tops of the tall posts, black with an- 
cestral dirt and flue of the middle ages ; and heavy curtains, 
with equally black fringe, which you could not draw. The 
whole thing had the air of the skeleton of a hearse that had got 
into the catacombs and been starved to death.. The moonlight 
crept along the wainscot, panel after panel, and we could see it 
gradually approaching our face. We felt, when it did so, that 
it would be no use making the ghosts, whom we knew were 
swarming about the chamber, believe that we were asleep any 
more. So we silently brought all the clothes over our head, 
and thus trembled till morning, preferring death from suffoca- 
tion to that from terror ; and thinking, with ostrich-like self- 
delusion, that as long as our head was covered we were safe. 
Beyond a doubt, many visitors flitted about and over us that 
night. "We were told, in fact, afterwards, that we had been 
charitably put in the " haunted room" — the only spare one — in 
which all kinds of ancestors had been done for. Probably this 
was the reason why none of them let us into their confidence ; 
there were so many that no secret could possibly be kept. Had 
we been aware of this interesting fact, we should unquestion- 
ably have added ourselves to the number of its traditional occu- 
pants long before morning, from pure fright. As it was, we 
left the house the next day — albeit we were on a week's visit — 



46 WILD OATS. 

with a firm determination never to sleep anywhere for the future 
but in some hotel about Covent-garden, where we should be 
sure of ceaseless noise, and evidences of human proximity all 
night long ; or close to the steam-press office of a daily paper. 
But this by the way ; now to our story. 

On the left bank of the Thames, stretching almost from the 
little village of Shepperton to Chertsey-bridge, there is a large, 
flat, blowy tract of land, known as Shepperton Range. In 
summer it is a pleasant spot enough, although the wind is 
usually pretty strong there, even when scarcely a breath is 
stirring anywhere else ; it is the St. Paul's Churchyard, in fact, 
of the neighbourhood. But then the large expanse of short 
springy turf is powdered with daisies ; and such a few bushes of 
hawthorn and attempts at hedges as are to be found upon its 
broad sweep, are mere standards for indolent ephemeral dog- 
roses, dissipated reckless hops, and other wild and badly 
brought-up classes of the vegetable kingdom. There are up- 
lands rising from the river, and crowned with fine trees, half 
surrounding the landscape from Egham-hill to Oatlands ; one 
or two humble towers of village churches ; rippling corn-fields, 
and small farms, whose homesteads are so neat and well 
arranged that they remind one of scenes in domestic melo- 
dramas, and you expect every minute to hear the libertine 
squire rebuked by the farmer's daughter, who, though poor, is 
virtuous, and prefers the crust of rectitude to all the entremets 
of splendid impropriety. The river here is deep and blue — in 
its full country purity before it falls into bad company in the 
metropolis, flowing gently on, and knowing neither extraordi- 
nary high tides of plenitude, nor the low waters of poverty. 
It is much loved of anglers — quiet, harmless folks, who punt 
down from The Cricketers, at Chertsey-bridge, the landlord 
of which hostelry formerly bore the name of Try — a per- 
suasive cognomination for a fishing inn, especially with regard 
to the mighty barbel drawn on the walls of the passage, 
which had been caught by customers. Never did a piscator 
leave the house in the morning without expecting to go and do 
likewise. 

But in winter, Shepperton Eange is very bleak and dreary. 
The wind rushes down from the hills, howling and driving hard 
enough to cut you in two, and the greater part of the plain, for 
a long period, is under water. The coach passengers used to 
wrap themselves up more closely as they approached its boun- 



A EEAL COUNTRY GHOST STORY. 47 

dary. This was in what haters of innovation called the good 
old coaching times, when " four spanking tits" whirled you 
along the road, and you had the "pleasant talk" of the coach- 
man, and excitement of the " changing," the welcome of " mine 
host" of the posting inn, and other things which appear to have 
thrown these anti-alterationists into frantic states of delight. 
Eubbish ! Give us the railway with its speed, and, after all, 
its punctuality ; its abolition of gratuities to drivers, guards, 
ostlers, and every idle fellow who chose to seize your carpet- 
bag and thrust it into the bottom of the boot, whence it could 
only be extracted by diving down until his inferior extremities 
alone were visible, like a bee in a bell-flower. When Cowley 
sent to invite his friend, Bishop Spratt, to Chertsey, he told 
him he could come from London conveniently in two days " by 
sleeping at Hampton ;" now you may knock off eighteen out of 
the twenty miles, from Nine-elms to "Weybridge, in forty 
minutes. 

In. winter (to return to the Eange), the pedestrian seeks in 
vain for the shelter of any hedge or bank. If the wind is in 
his teeth, it is no very easy matter for him to get on at all. 
Once let it take his hat, too, and he must give it up as utterly 
lost — all chance of recovery is gone ; and if the snow is on the 
ground and the moon is shining, he may see it skimming away 
to leeward for a wonderful distance, until it finally leaps into 
the river. And this reminds us that it was winter when the 
events of our story took place, and that the moon was up, and 
the ground white and sparkling. 

It had |been a sad Christmas with the inmates of a large 
family house near the village end of the Eange. For Christ- 
mas is not always that festive time which conventionality and 
advertisements insist upon its being, and the merriment of the 
season cannot always be ensured by the celebrated " sample 
hampers," or the indigestion arising from overfeeding. In 
many houses it is a sad tear-bringing anniversary ; and such it 
promised to be, in future, at the time of our story, now -upwards 
of sixty years ago, for the domestic circle of the Woodwards, 
by which name we wish to designate the family in question. It 
is not, however, the right one. The eldest daughter, Florence, 
a beautiful girl of twenty, was in the last stage of confirmed 
consumption. Her family had been justly proud of her ; a 
miniature by Cosway, which is still in existence, evidences her 
rare loveliness when in health, and as the reckless disease gained 



48 WILD OATS. 

■upon her, all its fatal attributes served only to increase her 
beauty. The brilliant, sparkling eye, with the fringe of long 
silky lashes ; the exquisitely delicate flush and white tint of her 
shin ; the bright, arterial lips and pearly teeth, all combined to 
endow her with fascinations scarcely mortal. 

" The beauty," beyond all comparison, of every circle of 
society into which she entered, Florence Woodward had not 
remained unconscious of her charms. Her disposition in early 
girlhood was naturally reserved, and to those casually intro- 
duced to her, cold and haughty; and this reserve increased 
with her years, fanned by the breath of constant flattery. She 
had rejected several most eligible matches, meeting the offers 
of one or two elder sons of the best families in the neighbour- 
hood with the coldest disdain, even after having led each of her 
suitors to believe, from the witchery of her manner, fascinating 
through all her pride, that he was the favoured one; and 
although, at last, they felt sure that their offers would be re- 
jected, if not with a sneer, at least with a stare of surprise at 
such presumption, yet the number of her admirers did not 
diminish ; in many instances it became a point of vanity as well 
as love. The hope of being, at last, the favoured one, urged 
them on, but always with the same result. She looked upon 
their hearts as toys — things to be amused with, then to be 
broken, and cared for no more. 

A year or two before the period of our story, she met Frank 
Sherborne one evening at the Eichmond ball. The Sherbornes 
had formerly lived at Halliford, within a mile of the Wood- 
wards, and the two families were exceedingly intimate at that 
time. They had now left the neighbourhood some years, and 
Florence was astonished to find that the mere boy, who used to 
call her by her Christian name, had grown to be a fine young 
man in the interim. Whether it was to pique some other 
admirer in the room, or whether she really was taken, for the 
few hours of the ball, with the lively intelligence and unaffected 
conversation of her old companion, we know not, but Sherborne 
was made supremely hnppy that evening by finding himself 
dancing each time with the belle of the room, and when he was 
not dancing, sitting by her side, lost in conversation. He was 
fascinated that night with the spells she wove around him, and 
he returned home with his brain almost turned, and his pulses 
throbbing, whilst the thoughts which recalled the beautiful face 
and low soft voice of Florence Woodward excluded all other 



A REAL COUNTRY GHOST STORY. 49 

subjects. His feelings were not those attendant on a mere 
flirtation with an attractive woman, in which gratified self-con- 
ceit has, perhaps, so large a share. He was madly, deeply in 
love. 

To be brief, his intimacy with the "Woodwards was renewed, 
and Florence led him on, making him believe that he was the 
chosen above all others, until he ventured to propose. In an 
instant her manner changed, and he was coldly rejected, with 
as much hauteur as if he had only been the acquaintance of a 
single dance. Stunned at first by her heartlessness, he left the 
house and returned home, without uttering a word of what had 
occurred to his family. Then came a reaction, and a brain 
fever supervened, and when he recovered he threw up all his 
prospects, which were of no ordinary brilliancy, and left home, 
as it subsequently proved, for ever, taking advantage of his 
mother's being a relation of Sir John Jervis to enter the navy 
on board the admiral's ship, and do anything in any capacity 
that might distract him from his one overwhelming misery. 

No sooner was he gone than Florence found, despite her en- 
deavours to persuade herself to the contrary, that she also was 
in love. Self-reproach, and remorse of the most bitter kind, 
seized upon her. Her spirits drooped, and she gave up going 
into society, and albeit her pride still prevented her from dis- 
closing her secret to a soul, its effect was the more terrible 
from her struggles to conceal it. Day by day she sank, as her 
frame became more attenuated from constant yet concealed 
fretting. Winter came, and one cold followed another, until 
consumption proclaimed its terrible hold upon the beautiful 
victim. Everything that the deepest family affection and un- 
limited means could accomplish was done to stop the ravages 
of the disease ; but although her friends were buoyed up with 
hope to the last, the medical men knew that her fate was sealed, 
from the very symptoms, so cruelly delusive, that comforted the 
others. She was attended by a physician who came daily from 
London, and an apothecary from a neighbouring town. From 
the latter we received this story some time back. He was a 
young man, and had not long commenced practice when it took 
place. 

He had been up several nights in succession, and was retir- 
ing to rest about half-past eleven, when a violent peal of the 
surgery bell caused him to throw up the window and inquire 
what was wanted. He directly recognised the coachman of the 

E 



50 WILD OATS. 

"Woodwards upon horseback, who told him that Miss Florence 
was much worse, and begged he would come over to Shepper- 
ton immediately. Sending the man at once away with the as- 
surance that he would be close upon his heels, he re-dressed 
hurriedly, and going to the stable, put his horse to the gig 
himself, for the boy who looked after it did not sleep in the 
house, and then hastily packing up a few things from the sur- 
gery which he thought might be wanted on emergency, he 
started off. It was bright moonlight, and the snow lay lightly 
upon the ground. The streets of the town were deserted ; nor 
indeed was there any appearance of life, except that in some 
of the upper windows of the houses lights were gleaming, and 
it was cold — bitter cold. The apothecary gathered his heavy 
night-coat well about him, and then drove on, and crossed 
Chertsey-bridge, under which the cold river was flowing with 
a swollen, heavy tide, chafing through the arches, as the blocks 
of ice floating on it at times impeded its free course. The wind 

blew keenly on the summit of the bridge ; but as Mr.J 

descended, it appeared more still, and when he got to the 
"gully-hole," with its melancholy ring of pollards (wherein a 
coach-and-four, with all the passengers, is reported by the 
natives to have gone down and never been seen again), it had 
ceased. 

We have said the moon was bright, more so than common, 

and when Mrs? got to the commencement of Shepperton 

Eange, he could see quite across the flat, even to the square 
white tower of the church ; and then, just as the bell of Little- 
ton tolled twelve, he perceived something coming into the other 
end of the E-ange, and moving at a quick pace. It was unusual 
to meet anything thereabouts so late at night, except the 
London market-carts and the carriers' waggons, and he could 
form no idea of what it could be. It came on with increased 
speed, but without the slightest noise ; and this was remark- 
able, inasmuch as the snow was not deep enough to muffle 
the sound of the wheels and horses' feet, but had blown and 
drifted from the road upon the plain at the side. Nearer and 
nearer it came, and now the apothecary perceived that it was 
something like a hearse, but still vague and indistinct in shape, 
and it was progressing on the wrong side of the road. His 
horse appeared alarmed, and was snorting hurriedly as his 
breath steamed out in the moonlight, and Mr. felt him- 
self singularly and instantaneously chilled. The mysterious 



A REAL COUNTRY GHOST STORY. 51 

vehicle was now distant from him only a few yards, and he called 
out to whoever was conducting it to keep on the right side ; but 
no attention was paid, and as he endeavoured to pull his own 
horse over, the object came upon him. The animal reared on 
his hind legs, and then plunged forwards, overturning the gig 
against one of the flood posts ; but even as the accident oc- 
curred he saw that the strange carriage was a dark-coloured 
vehicle, with black feathers at its corners, and that within were 
two figures, upon whom a strange and ghastly light appeared 
to be thrown. One of these resembled Florence "Woodward ; 
and the other, whose face was close to hers, bore the features 
of young Sherborne. The next instant he was thrown upon the 
ground. He was not hurt, but scrambled up again upon his 
legs immediately ; when, to his intense surprise, nothing of the 
appalling equipage was to be seen. The Eange was entirely 
deserted ; and there was not a hedge or thicket of any kind 
behind which the strange apparition could have been concealed. 
But there was the gig upset, sure enough, and the cushions and 

wrappers lying on the snow. Unable to raise the gig, Mr. , 

almost bewildered, took out the horse and rode hurriedly on 
over the remaining part of the flat, towards the "Woodwards' 
house. He was directly admitted, being expected ; and, with- 
out exchanging a word with the servant, flew up-stairs to the 
bedroom of the invalid. He entered, and found all the family 
assembled. One or two of them were kneeling round the bed 
and weeping bitterly ; and upon it lay the corpse of Florence 
"Woodward. In a fit of coughing she had ruptured a large 
vessel in the lungs, and died almost instantaneously. 

Mr. ascertained in an instant that he had arrived too 

late. Unwilling to disturb the members of the family, who in 
their misery had scarcely noticed his arrival, he drew the nurse 
from the room, and asked how long she had been dead. 

" It is not a quarter of an hour, sir," replied the old woman, 
looking on an old-fashioned clock, that was going solemnly with 
a dead muffled beat upon the landing, and now pointed out 
the time, about ten minutes after twelve. " She went off close 
upon midnight, and started up just before she died, holding out 
her arms as though she saw something ; and then she fell back 
upon the pillow, and it was all over." 

The apothecary stayed in the house that night, for his assist- 
ance was often needed by the mother of the dead girl, and 
left in the morning. The adventure of the night before haunted 

e2 



52 WILD OATS. 

him to a painful degree for a long period. Nor was his perfect 
inability to account for it at all relieved when he heard, some 
weeks afterwards, that young Sherborne had died of a wound 
received in the battle off Cape St. Vincent, on the very day, 
and at the very hour, when the apparition had appeared to him 
on Shepperton Range. 

"We have often heard the story told, and as often heard it 
explained by the listeners. They have said that it was a curious 

coincidence enough, but that Mr. ■ was worn out with 

watching, and had gone to sleep in his gig, pulling it off the 
road, and thus overturning it. We offer no comments either 
upon the adventure or the attempt to attribute it to natural 
causes : the circumstances have been related simply as they 
were said to have occurred, and we leave the reader to form his 
own conclusions. 



( 53 ) 



MR. TONES AND HIS GEEAT CHEISTMAS FAILUEE. 

Mr. Tonks was an eminent retail tea-dealer, as well known 
in the City as the Exchange grasshopper, the Bank beadle, or 
the generous gentlemen of the Hebrew persuasion, who used 
to do nothing all their lives but buy dressing-cases and pen- 
knives at the open auction in the Poultry. He was portly in his 
person, and spoke with an air of immutable reliance upon his 
own opinion. He was a smart tradesman, and very close-fisted, 
but his name was as good as any in London. In fine, Mr. 
Tonks was as much esteemed and disliked as any man in any 
kind of position — so long as it is a position — may expect to be. 

The establishment in which Mr. Tonks daily amassed his 
wealth was something wonderful to behold ; especially so to 
country visitors. There was tea enough shovelled about in 
the windows to make you believe that the four hundred and 
twenty millions of Chinese who made up the last census had been 
actively engaged, day and night, for a twelvemonth, without ever 
going to bed, in collecting it, and had not gone through their work 
even then. And the coffee-mill — there was a monster machine ! 
It resembled one of those dreadful engines used in pantomimes 
to grind aged individuals into youths and maidens ; and if the 
old man who was perpetually turning it had tumbled in by ac- 
cident, nobody would have been at all surprised to have seen 
him come out a little boy, in a paper cap and shirt sleeves, at the 
spout, after a single revolution. 

The rows of gaudy canisters were vividly embellished with 
scenes of every-day 'life in the Celestial Empire. Mr. Tonks 
said, they explained the process of tea-growing ; but he might 
have said, with equal truth, of the ladies and gentlemen so cun- 
ningly limned, they portrayed writing for shares, conjuring, or 
doing penance. Their chief occupation seemed to be standing 
in uncommonly painful and dislocated attitudes, as if they had 
got something down their backs they did not like : watching 
their friends and relatives carrying pails and gig umbrellas ; or 



54 WILD OATS. 

sitting down to a table with nothing on it except a teacup, an 
article not giving great promise of rollicking festivity. 

And then the young men — real gentlemen, without doubt — 
perhaps officers come to distress — why, bless you, they attracted 
as many people inside the shop as the bowing mandarins in the 
window arrested the passers-by without. You could see them 
through the open doors putting up endless pounds of the 
orange-flavoured pekoe at four shillings (which there was such 
a struggle among the nobility to possess), writing upon them, 
banging them about on the counter, and then pitching them 
into the division for the phantom consumers in the imaginary 
Dulwich district, where the visionary van would go on Tuesday, 
in a careless manner, that quite looked as if they regarded the 
lea no more than the humblest leaflet that ever trembled on its 
hedge-stalk. And the balloons so brilliantly lighted at night ; 
the caddies and card pools ; with the old noblemen addicted to 
corpulency lolling their tongues, as they reposed on heaps of 
congou ; and the emaciated dervishes, who were posted about 
the mounds of hyson, altogether made an opposition Chinese 
Collection, which had the additional advantage of being a gra- 
tuitous exhibition entirely. 

Well, in this sumptuous establishment, Tonks and Com- 
pany — the " company" consisted of his wife and daughter — 
nourished several years ; for they were well to do, and better 
each Christmas. Their notions expanded. Gravesend gave 
place to Margate, Margate to Hamsgate, and Bamsgate to the 
French coast. Miss Tonks was moved from the day-school in 
the Hackney-road to Miss Turnham's academy at Chiswick, 
and then to Miss Burton's " Pension" at Boulogne. Then, 
Mr. Tonks became various great things in the City ; he used 
to talk a little and eat a great deal at Guildhall, and once went 
before the Queen ; and at last retired from trade altogether, and 
bought a large estate in the lower part of Surrey, where he de- 
termined to reside, and for the rest of his life do the Old Eng- 
lish Gentleman line of business. 

The house he purchased was a fine old place ; it had long 
been the home of one of the county families now extinct. It 
had tall twisted chimneys and heavy mullioned windows ; a 
porch, a terrace, and a large hall ; a staircase that you might 
have driven a coach-and-four up — if the horses had been 
Astley's platform ones, and didn't mind climbing — and wea- 
thercocks, my goodness, what a lot! If each wind from 



ME. TONKS AND HIS GREAT CHRISTMAS FAILURE. 55 

every point of the compass had taken one as its own private 
vane, not to answer to any other, which was the case with 
most of them, there would still have been several to spare. 
The old patriarchal one over the hall appeared to have blown 
to seed, and all the atoms had taken root on the tiles, and 
sprung up by scores wherever they chose, their total im- 
mobility reducing the amateur in meteorology to the primitive 
process of throwing up straws to satisfy his curiosity — an esta- 
blished and, at the same time, a diverting experiment. 

Mr. Tonks had money, which the extinct family who lived 
there before had not ; and the house was soon put in order. 
Belies of Elizabethan furniture were manufactured for him by 
the old curiosity dealers, at a day's notice ; and more ancestors 
took their departure from "Wardour- street than had ever before 
migrated from that musty locality. The most important of 
these, Sir Humphrey de Tonkes, who fought at " Azineour," 
was put at the top of the staircase, and his armour was set up 
in the hall on a dummy, supposed to represent the warrior, 
which had a propensity to lean forward in rather a drunken 
attitude than otherwise, giving a notion of the knight as he 
might have been supposed to have appeared when trying to 
keep on his legs with the aid of his spear, in the lists, after 
violently indulging in strong drinks, according to the fashion 
of the dark ages. The other relatives, preserved in oil, were 
hung here and there, and about ; the most reputable paintings 
holding the best places — which is not always the case in pic- 
ture-hanging — as may be seen any fine day in summer for a 
shilling, in London. And so they made a goodly line, from the 
great Humphrey just spoken of, to the small children in quaint 
straight dresses, who looked as if they might all have been 
taken up and rung like so many hand-bells. 

The people in the neighbourhood soon began to call. First 
the doctor came, then the clergyman, and afterwards some of 
the families. These last were more tardy ; for country aristo- 
cracy is cautious, having very little, in the abstract, to assume 
high ground upon, beyond conventional position, and conse- 
quently being fearful of more easily jeopardising it. But old 
Lady Hawksy, who hunted up everybody from whom available 
advantages were to be pumped, or otherwise secured, called at 
last, and all the rest followed, like ducks going to water, or 
sheep through a hedge. And then Mr. Tonks made up his 
own mind, as well as his wife's and daughter's, that it was time 



56 WILD OATS. 

for the Old English Gentleman to come out strong. Annie 
Tonks — it was not a very pretty name, but that could not be 
altogether considered as her fault — was very nice-looking ; I 
don't know how it is, but I never knew an Annie that was not. 
I may be prejudiced, but I can scarcely think so. Her father 
already calculated upon her making a good match — good, that 
is to say, in point of connexion — in return for which he would 
advance money. And, accordingly, he gave days of shooting to 
all eligible young men, and got them to his house afterwards. 
But Annie, though exceedingly courteous, never gave any of 
them the slightest encouragement, at which her father was first 
surprised, and then annoyed. Possibly he would have been 
more so, had he known that a certain young lawyer, whom his 
daughter had met at that paradise of autumnal philanderings, 
Ramsgate, stood a far better chance — in fact, the affaire du cceur 
had almost been put beyond one — of becoming Annie's future 
husband, than the son of the sheriff, or Lady Hawksy's nephew, 
or any other elder brothers that Mr. Tonks wished would enter 
his family. And this young lawyer, whose name was Frederick 
"Walcot, was the most impudent fellow imaginable. He would 
come to the house, in spite of all Mr. Tonks' s gruff receptions ; 
and never took hints to go, or that he was not wanted ; and 
always kept so close to Annie, that there was little room for any- 
body else to come near her. In fact, with him the young lady 
was as effectually guarded as the showman who, in describing 
his view of the battle of Trafalgar, points out Lord Nelson to 
have been, " s'rounded by Captain Hardy." In former days, 
there was only one line of Old English Gentlemen to take up ; now 
there are several. There is the virtuous-indignation Old English 
Gentleman, who makes speeches about the "wrongs of the poor 
man," and " nature's nobility," and maintains the right of the 
labourer to knock down fences, trespass on preserves, and steal 
game that he has no right to, whenever he pleases : the Old 
Gentleman in question not having any preserves of his own, of 
course. Then there is the Young England Old English Gen- 
tleman, who, being as proud as Lucifer, gives a ball once a year 
to his servants and tenants, and apes humility in a manner 
wonderful to behold, but keeps his own circle about him most 
religiously, with the silver forks and superior soup at the top 
cross-table, to show the common people, after all, that this is 
but condescension on his part, and that the clay of which they 
are formed is but crockery to the porcelain of his own set. Then 



ME. TONKS AND HIS GREAT CHRISTMAS FAILURE. 57 

there is the Squire Old English Gentleman, who can talk of no- 
thing but dogs and horses, shouts and bawls whenever he 
speaks, makes his friends drink as much wine as he chooses to 
swill himself, and appears to put his children and pet animals 
all on the same level — a descendant of the Western genus still 
existing. And there is the High Church Old English Gentle- 
man, and his opponent the Low Church Old English Gentleman, 
with a score more, if we cared to name them. And lastly, the 
Old English Gentleman, properly so called, who belongs to a 
good family, keeps up a good establishment, cultivates good 
connexions, but at the same time shows great attention to 
many who are a step below him on the ladder of station, who 
adopt the courtesy and refined manners of his circle, handing 
them in turn still lower, and so diffusing in all grades that 
etiquette without which the barrier of society would be 
knocked down altogether, and " nature's nobility" might 
honour us with their company to hob and nob whenever they 
pleased — which would be a great and glorious thing in the eyes 
of a philanthropical high-pressure epithet literary gentleman, 
but not altogether so agreeable in reality. 

Mr. Tonks debated for a long time what sort of Old English 
Gentleman he should be, and at last thought an amalgamation 
of certain features from all these classes, with Young England 
uppermost, would be the best of all. And as the year was 
drawing to its close, he decided upon giving a Christmas enter- 
tainment to his neighbours in the old style at a great ex- 
penditure ; and so assume a place with the best of them, and 
marry Annie to the son of the sheriff, or Lady Hawksy's ne- 
phew, or any other of the elder brothers. 

By, the assistance of " Hone's Every -Day Book," and the 
four-and-sixpenny edition of " Strutt's Sports and Pastimes," 
Mr. Tonks soon found out how Christmas ought to be kept. 
He determined upon having mummers, a fool, and a wassail- 
bowl; there would be also a yule-log, a hobby-horse, and a 
dragon ; and he also decided upon a " wode-house," or a " sal- 
vage man," who, according to the book, should " dysporte him- 
self with fireworks" amongst the company. But this latter 
character was discarded at the express desire of Mrs. Tonks, 
who thought squibs and book-muslin dresses, " which as they 
kiss consume," would not go very well together; and that, al- 
though violent delights might be thereat produced, they would 
have equally violent ends, and die in their triumph. 



58 WILD OATS. 

Old Lady Hawksy was the first who accepted the invitation ; 
in consequence of which, by a bold stroke of policy, the Tonkses 
put their carriage at her disposal for a week, that she might 
drive round to all her acquaintances and say she was going, 
whereby they would be induced to come. And this had 
its effect ; for whether from curiosity, condescension, love of 
gaiety, or politeness, everybody " had great pleasure in accept- 
ing," &c, and the heart of Mr. Tonks swelled with pride, as 
that of his wife did with maternal speculation, when they 
thought of all their guests comprising all the gentry of the 
neighbourhood, and those designated in circulars merely as 
"inhabitants;" especially Lady Hawksy's nephew, who was in 
the Guards, and whom Mrs. Tonks hoped would bring some 
brother officers, and that they would all come in their soldiers* 
clothes, and look as ferocious and imposing as their partners 
would permit. No invitation was to be sent to Frederick 
"Walcot ; this was expressly insisted on, and yet, somehow or 
another, curiously enough, he contrived to know all about the 
party, as we shall see. 

Mr. Tonks was determined for once to make a splash. The 
supper was to come down in light vans from Gunter's ; the 
music from Chappell's ; and the mummers and hobby-horse 
from Nathan's — at least, their outward gear. 

The guests were to dance in the hall, and refect in the 
dining-room, whilst the fool was to say clever things every- 
where all the evening. For this purpose, Mr. Tonks engaged 
a witty man at a salary of thirty shillings, who was an actor at 
one of the minor theatres, and used to conjure and show a 
magic lantern at his parties when Annie was a little girl. The 
frame of Sir Humphrey de Tonkes was decked out with, holly. 
His armour was polished up until it looked so new, that you 
would never have believed it had been worn at Agincourt ; and 
the feathers from Mrs. Tonks' s own bonnet were put in the 
helmet— handsome drooping ones, quite ready to go to court 
on the shortest notice. And so, at last, all was ready, and the 
evening arrived. 

Frost and snow are no longer attributes of Christmas. They 
used to be, but fog and floods have long since taken their places, 
and did so more especially on the evening of Mr. Tonks's party. 
But most of those invited kept carriages — he sent his own for 
Lady Hawksy, but her nephew preferred driving over in a dog- 
cart from the barracks — and those who did not, got flys from 



MK. TONKS AND HIS GREAT CHRISTMAS FAILURE. 59 

the nearest town, so that all arrived pretty well. Mrs. Tonks 
received the guests in the drawing-room. She had been at 
Guildhall on various Lord Mayor's days, and took her ideas of 
receptions generally from the ceremonies observed on that oc- 
casion, in consequence of which she exhibited much dignity ; 
and when this was done they passed on to the hall, admired 
the pictures, made cutting remarks in a low tone, and waited 
for what came next. But the worst was that, for a long time, 
nothing did come. The young people had all got engaged — 
that is to say, only for the dances ; and Annie was to open the 
ball — which is a ceremony we do not precisely understand, 
seeing that a ball is generally opened by twenty young ladies 
simultaneously, in the first quadrille — with old Lady Hawksy's 
nephew ; but the music had not arrived. What could be the 
reason ? Chappell was a man of his word, and Mr. Tonks 
had expressly engaged him on an evening when Covent Garden 
would be occupied by those kind-hearted gentlemen who are 
going to give everybody quartern loaves for a halfpenny apiece. 
And he had, moreover, arranged that he should put the band in 
the hall gallery, where they might have crackers, double-barrelled 
guns, horsewhips, red fire, and a cat and a terrier in one hamper, 
to give the effects to Jullien's various quadrilles with proper 
force, as well as the garden engine for a new set called L'Orage, 
in the finale of which a real shower of rain was to fall on the 
heads of the guests, to be followed by the Parapluie Polka. 
What could have become of them ? It was very odd ! — so it 
was. However, something must be done, and accordingly the 
mummers were ordered into the hall to carry on time until the 
music came. But the entrance of mummers without music is 
in itself a slow proceeding, and not productive of much mirth. 
The young ladies looked at the odd dresses — mostly moyen-age 
costumes with large heads, which preserved that comical ex- 
pression of stereotyped hilarity, perfectly uninfluenced by cir- 
cumstances, we notice in pantomimes, and said, " How droll, to 
be sure !" and the great neighbours looked coldly at one an- 
other, as much as to ask, " What does all this mean ?" and then 
the excitement caused by their entrance was over. The ab- 
sence of the music was the death of everything. The polka 
could not be danced between the Stag and the Railway King, 
who was to be dressed with a tall hat like the chimney of a lo- 
comotive. The Hobby-horse capered about the hall, and hit 
the people on the head with a bladder tied to a stick, at which 



60 WILD OATS. 

some laughed the first time, but voted it stupid the second ; 
and the Dragon was very tame indeed. He kept in a corner of 
the room, close by Annie, all the evening, and appeared to be 
her own especial Dragon-in-waiting. 

Mr. Tonks got frantic ; he despatched everybody available 
from his house in all directions with lanterns and keepers' 
fusees to look after the music. He ran in and out of the hall 
upon fictitious business, and was at one time found cowering 
in the passage, all by himself, fearing to face the yawning com- 
pany, who were gradually relapsing into solemn silence ; and, at 
last, gave orders that the Pool should go into the hall and be 
funny. But the Eool proved as great a failure as everything 
else. Nobody cared to say anything to him to draw him out, 
and, if they had, the chances are that he would not have 
come. For he had formed his character upon the models 
offered by Christmas clowns, and when he had said, " Here we 
are again !" and " I'm a looking at you !" or " Here's somebody 
coming !" which were not witticisms productive of great merit 
upon frequent repetition, he could do nothing more but crow 
like a cock, a performance not altogether devoid of merit in its 
proper place — the House of Commons or the Opera omnibus- 
box, for example — but not calculated to throw people into con- 
vulsions in formal private society. Everything was now at a 
dead stand-still. The yule-log, which had been hewn from the 
freshly-excavated trunk of a tree, would not burn anyhow, but 
sulked upon the hearth, splitting and sputtering as though it 
was hissing the failure of the entertainments, and filling the 
hall with smoke. It was too early for the wassail-bowl, for the 
company had barely finished tea; and, although Mrs. Tonks 
rushed about with packs of cards amongst the guests, entreat- 
ing them to draw one and form a rubber, everybody declined 
except old Lady Hawksy's nephew, who laboured under the im- 
pression that the mistress of the house was about to exhibit some 
conjuring tricks, and having taken a card, expected to be asked 
to look at it and return it where he pleased, previous to its 
being discovered in an egg, or a workbox, or, perhaps, a pancake. 
But on finding that this process was merely a trap to bottle 
him up in a room, away from everything and everybody except 
two or three bits of quality tumbled into decay, who were to 
make up the rubbers with him, he returned it immediately 
without looking at it, with much alacrity, assuring Mrs. Tonks 
that he never played anything but skittles, adding, that he 



ME. TONKS AND HIS GREAT CHRISTMAS FAILURE. 61 

should be very happy to do so directly, if there were any that 
could be brought into the hall. 

At length, in his agony of despair, Mr. Tonks assembled his 
retainers in the housekeeper's room, and asked if anybody 
could play any instrument whatever. Yes ! one could : lucky 
thought ! Tom the helper knew the fiddle. Tom the helper 
was the graceless ne'er-to-do- well of the village, and con- 
fined the sphere of his utility chiefly to the stables of " The 
Tonks' Arms," an hostelry adjoining the Hall, which had been 
promoted to an inn vice the beershop of " The Crooked Billet." 
On this eventful evening, Tom had come to the house to assist, 
and had so proved the hospitality of the kitchen, that, in his 
present state of self-glorification, he would have offered to have 
played anything, even if it had been the sackbut, or any other 
defunct instrument with the nature of which even the most 
ancient subscribers to the " Ancient Concerts" were unac- 
quainted. As it was, he went and got his fiddle, which was 
a marvellous thing to look at, having been made by himself out 
of tin, for the sole use of the benefit club in the village ; and 
being arrayed in a spare livery-coat, was put up in the gallery 
with an enormous jack of strong beer — which, by some perver- 
sion of his comprehensive faculties, he called " his rossum" — and 
told to begin whatever he knew. 

But Tom's knowledge was limited. In vain the company 
suggested the Chatsworth Quadrilles, the Bouquet Boyal Waltz, 
the Annen or Mont Blanc Polka ; they might as well have called 
for the particular air to which Doctor Paustus caused his scho- 
lars, under fear of the whip, to perform that remarkable dance 
from Scotland into France, and subsequently into the Penin- 
sula, before he whipped them back again ; although how they 
contrived to surmount the various engineering difficulties on 
the route is by no means satisfactorily proved. But this by the 
way. Tom did not know these, but he knew the " Tank" and 
"Money Musk," together with a mysterious air, which he 
termed " Hunches of puddun and lumps of fat," and winch 
nobody was bold enough to call for, the name being an un- 
pleasant one, not to say offensive. So the "Tank" it was 
obliged to be ; and before it had been played one minute, Lady 
Hawksy's nephew found out it was a capital Polka tune ; where- 
upon he rushed up to Annie, and almost without askiug her, he 
whirled her off in the back step across the hall, and was fol- 
lowed directly by a dozen couples, who had got wearied to death 



62 WILD OATS. 

from inactivity, and went into it like mad. But in the second 
round, the Dragon, who had all this time sulked in the corner, 
crept into the circle, and in the most awkward manner con- 
trived to get right in the way of Lady Hawksy's nephew, and 
trip him over, which feat being accomplished, he crept back 
again to the corner, and Annie, by some means or another, hurt 
her foot in this very round, and could not dance any more, re- 
tiring to her old seat, and begging her cavalier would find 
another partner. 

The people went on dancing ; and it was astonishing what 
they adapted "The Tank" to. It was played on continuously 
for the quadrilles, but for the waltz was rather difficult, until 
somebody proposed the Valse a deux temps, which, just come in, 
not depending upon any tune at all, but being danced at the will 
of the company, was a good introduction. But all this time the 
"rossum" was doing its work ; and after gazing at the dancers 
for some time in bewildered surprise, Tom threw his fiddle 
down into the hall, through the chandelier, swearing " he'd be 
jiggered" — the precise meaning of the participle was not clearly 
understood — " if he played no more ; they beat all the club 
people he ever know'd !" 

There was terrible confusion, and it is said that some young 
ladies who had eligible partners fainted right off in their arms. 
Mr. and Mrs. Tonks were aghast ; they stood at first speechless, 
and then each called for Annie at the same time in some vague 
desire to collect their home forces around them, as if they 
feared an attack from the indignant visitors. But Annie was 
nowhere to be found. She had suddenly disappeared ; and 
the Dragon had disappeared also ; and all was speechless amaze- 
ment, until they learned from the lodge-keeper that the apo- 
cryphal monster and the young lady had entered the sheriff's 
own carriage, and gone off through the floods as fast as Mr. 
Tonks's own postilion could take them, the sheriff's retainers 
being drunk in the buttery (as Mr. Tonks would call the wash- 
house), in which state they forcibly took possession of the 
wassail-bowl and emptied it. 

The following morning Mr. Chappell's band was discovered, 
like Spenser's allegory of February, sitting in an old waggon in 
the middle of the floods, in which state they had been left by the 
treachery of the man who was to meet them at the nearest rail- 
way station, and take them all over to the Hall ; and there they 
would have been much longer, had not the principal cornet 



ME. TONKS AND HIS GEEAT CHEISTMAS FAILUEE. 63 

attracted the attention of the agricultural population — by a post 
horn without the galop — to their plight. And, singular to say, 
this traitor went on straight to the Hall, and took the part 
of the Dragon, who spirited Annie away, changing again, when 
in the sheriff's carriage, to no less a person than young Walcot, 
who forthwith accompanied the lady of his heart by rail to 
Gretna — following the force of high example — and came back 
penitent and married, before Mr. and Mrs. Tonks had recovered 
from the anguish into which the failure of keeping Christmas 
in the old style had plunged them. 

There was the usual business to go through : the anger, the 
pleadings, and the forgiveness ; and then, Mr. Tonks thought 
that Annie had perhaps done better, after all, than if she had 
caught old Lady Hawksy's nephew. For subsequent little 
rudenesses on the part of his guests disgusted him with society 
above him, and he began to think that, however much money 
he spent, he was only sneered at covertly by those whom he 
attempted to equalise himself with, and that, if his notions of 
doing good and being benevolent were real, and not conven- 
tionally chivalric, they could be carried out as well by the re- 
tired London tradesman as the got-up-for-the-purpose Old Eng- 
lish Gentleman, to which position he had no pretensions. 



( 64 ) 



VI. 

THE BOYS IN THE STEEETS. 
1. — OF THE " PEOPLE" — THE SOT7BCE OF ALL P.OTS. 

We have been some time making up our minds as to the real 
attributes of the class denominated "the people;" and who, 
in reality, " the people" are supposed to be. 

A long time ago we imagined them to be something unplea- 
sant, for their name was always coupled with a depreciative 
epithet. We heard of " horrid people," and " strange people," 
and " people nobody liked or visited," and these were generally 
amongst the middle classes. Next, we set "the people" down as 
a mass of weak-minded individuals, from the things we saw es- 
pecially addressed to them. Whenever anything was adver- 
tised for "the people," it was generally some cheap rubbish 
that nobody else could be expected to buy. " The People's 
Picture G-allery" was probably a reprint from worn-out plates, 
upon bad paper, of uninteresting subjects. " Holidays for the 
people" were chiefly characterised by crowds of the lower 
orders tumbling about the streets tipsy, at late hours on Mon- 
day evenings ; meetings of thousands at dreary suburban fes- 
tivals, ringing with the rude joyless riot, so nearly degenerating 
into absolute brutality, which, unhappily, characterises all the 
dull fetes of the masses in England, compared to those on the 
Continent ; sweltering in close meeting-houses at the end of 
dirty courts, or National Pantheons, or Athenaeums, or other 
patriotic temples to swill weak infusions of cheap black tea, 
diluted with spoiled water, as they listened to the noisy gabble 
of uneducated professors of the " I'm-as-good-as-you" theories 
of social life ; gaping through the British Museum, not from any 
interest they felt in the collection, but because there were thou- 
sands of things they did not understand to be seen there for 






THE BOYS IN THE STREETS. 65 

nothing; availing themselves of the permission to stream 
through the National Gallery and Hampton Court Palace, and 
stare at the pictures with precisely the same feelings with which 
they would look at the paintings outside shows, with the excep- 
tion that they would like the latter much the best ; or return- 
ing in the evening — with very, very few exceptions — dusty, 
tired, and quarrelsome. All this did not elevate " the people" 
in our estimation. 

Anon came the epoch of "virtuous indignation" in litera- 
ture, by which authors found they could turn their pens to 
as good account as the spouters on the same subject did their 
lungs ; and various phrases, such as " the wrongs of the poor 
man," and the " crimes of respectability," were without doubt 
stereotyped, from the frequency of their occurrence, for their 
use. The professors travelled about to be stared at, having 
stirred up " the people" with their long pens until they got the 
freedoms of the towns presented to them in tin saucepans, or 
pipkins, or razor-cases, or lucifer-boxes, or other specimens of 
local manufactures. 

And then we learned that " the people" never had any holi- 
days at all, nor any amusements, nor any anything. And yet, 
by tracking them slily into various resorts, we found they filled 
the uproarious galleries of the theatres ; or composed the 
masses who shouted at the election of candidates, not having 
the ghost of a vote; who blocked up the streets on Lord 
Mayor's Day, or swarmed round the Old Bailey scaffold. We 
then began strongly to suspect that the classes known to the 
old novelists and essayists by the certainly not too elevating 
titles of "riff-raff" and "tagrag and bobtail," were "the 
people" of the Virtuous Indignationists of the present time. 

Finally, we read what M. Michelet had to say upon the 
subject, and we left off in a greater haze than ever as to 
who "the people" were. We, therefore, thought it best to 
amalgamate the leading points of the various physiologies we 
have glanced at — and which seemed to be nearest the mark, 
from observation of the simplest kind — and form our own 
ideas of " the people" from them ; and from this class, it seems 
to us, that the boys in the streets take their origin, entirely 
forming themselves "the people" of the next generation. We 
have begun at the beginning in endeavouring to give some idea 
of the stock from which spring the branches we are about to 
describe. 



66 WILD OATS. 



2. — THE EAELT DATS OF THE BOYS. 

Theee are several spots in which, with very little trouble, you 
may see the embryo boys to great advantage. During fine 
weather they swarm in broad paved courts, or culs-de-sac, in 
crowded neighbourhoods. Punch's show is a capital ground- 
bait for them, bringing a hundred instantaneously together, 
where not a single one was visible a minute before. On the 
broken ground about to be formed into a new street, or built 
upon, you may at all times make sure of them. The more 
irregular it is the more they love it, and if the cellar arches are 
already built, the attraction is paramount to every other, except, 
perhaps, the spot where wood pavement is being taken up or 
put down ; for there they storm and defend forts, or make 
perilous excursions over mountains all day long. 

The boys in this tadpole state — which reptile they somewhat 
resemble in their active wriggling and love of puddles of water 
— stand only in awe of one person, and that is the policeman. 
Their notions of his functions are somewhat vague ; but they 
are certain he can take them up and punish them — for nothing, 
and from mere w r antonness — whenever he pleases. They spy 
him out quicker than a crow in a field does a man with a gun ; 
if you suddenly see a flying army of children bolting from a 
court or round a corner in terror, you may be certain that a 
policeman is close at hand. At a more mature age, they will 
chaff him and run away; but at present their belief in his 
greatness is unbounded. He would be the giant or the dragon 
of their nursery story-books ; but, in the first place, they have 
no nursery, and, in the second, no story-books to read there. 
And, mdeed, the reading is itself a question. 

The children of the London streets are acute from their 
birth. The very babies, crawling on the kerb, or burrowing in 
the dust of a building plot, have a cunning expression of face 
which you do not find in the white-headed country infants ; 
and, as soon as they can run alone, their sharpness breaks forth 
most palpably — they are never to be " done." In fact, as far 
as their wits are concerned, they are never children, but minia- 
ture men. We have said that it is only in fine weather you 
see them about ; and then they come out like gnats, and are 
just as troublesome, especially if you are driving. We have no 
clear notions of what becomes of them when it is wet; we 
hardly imagine that the neighbouring houses can contain the 



THE BOYS IN THE STREETS. 67 

swarms that we Lave spoken of. If they do, we pity the other 
dwellers ; we conceive on no other portion of the community 
can a continuance of rain bring so many discomforts. 

The street children have no regular toys; they have seen 
them in small shop windows, and on stalls, and long barrows, 
but never possessed any : all they have they invent. "Not that 
their playthings are the less diverting on this account ; in any 
circle of life you may give a child the costliest toys with which 
it will only be amused for a time, to return to the mere furni- 
ture of the nursery. "We question if the noblest horse and cart 
just bought from Mr. Myers, or Mr. Cremer, or in any of the 
bazaars, ever excited half so much whip -enthusiasm in the 
young charioteer as the footstool harnessed to the rocking- 
chair. No boxes of bricks would amuse the street child so 
much as the oyster-shells with which he makes a grotto ; he 
would not care half so much for a trap and ball as for his- little 
" tip cat" of wood, cut from a fire bundle ; and he has no occa- 
sion to buy large marbles when the first heap of pebbles will 
find him in as many " boncers" as he wishes. You will seldom 
see these street children with dolls. They would not know 
what to do with them ; for never having been nursed, fondled 
dressed, or put to bed themselves, they are incompetent to ex- 
hibit the same attentions to sham infants. But they can set 
up ninepins of brickbats and broken bottles ; and make carts of 
old saucepans to fill with rubbish and drag after them ; and lay 
out banquets of dirt, dressed in various fashions, upon services 
of bits of tile and crockery, and tureens of old shoes. And as 
all these things can be immediately replaced when broken, and 
excite no sorrow when lost, their state is, in this respect, rather 
to be envied than otherwise. 

And so, leading a life of all holidays, and turning the great 
world into a playroom for his especial enjoyment, the street 
infant passes to the boy. 

3. — THE BOYS, PEOPERLY SO CALLED. 

The "boys" are as characteristic of our London streets as 
the gamins are of the quays and canal banks of Paris. Let us 
consider a general type of their class. 

He hath eight years of existence to answer for. He weareth 
a paper cap, or a cloth one without a peak, set forward on his 
head, which he considereth knowing. He standeth on his head 
with ease, and without apparent necessity to do so ; and is out- 

E 2 



68 WILD OATS. 

done only by the sable musician of Ethiopia, whom the gallery 
honoureth by the name of "Bones," in his handling the Cas- 
tanet bits of slate. He danceth to piano organs a measure not 
taught by any advertising professors ; and, at times, waggishly 
turneth the handle himself, to the indignation of the Genoese 
performer. On being remonstrated with, he sparreth playfully 
at the foreigner, treateth his hat with insult by compressing it 
as though it were a French mechanical one, and then runneth 
away. 

He loveth all street performances, but contributeth nothing 
to their support, albeit he taketh the front place. He followeth 
a fire-engine with ardour, and when nobody is looking, bloweth 
a lusty note through the metal hose-pipe ; after which, he run- 
neth to the opened water-plug, which he compresseth with his 
shoe, and causeth the stream to spirt over the passengers, which 
diversion he concludeth by pushing the little brother of some 
other boy into it. And then he quarrelleth with the other boy, 
and saith, " I should like to see you do it !" But on neither 
side is anything ever done. 

He loveth the freedom of shirt-sleeves, and doth not think an 
apron beneath him, so that he tucketh it up. He returneth 
speedy answers, intended to wound the feelings of those reprov- 
ing him, and by this token it is dangerous to chaff him. He 
detecteth rapidly peculiarities in dress, and hath an ideal type, 
which he calleth " a swell out of luck." And he doth not 
think the question, " Does your mother know you're out ?" at 
all worn out or passe, but still indulgeth in it, imagining 
thereby that he inflicteth a pang whose sharpness precludes 
reply. If he runneth against you, he will turn away reproof 
by saying first, "Now then, spooney! can't you see where 
you're drivin' on." 

He hath the merit of being an indirect author of burlesques, 
albeit Blackwood did not formerly attack him thereon. Eor 
from him did Messrs. Planche, A'Beckett, Tom Taylor, Shirley 
Brooks, Brough, Talfourd, and another, with whom we are upon 
terms of great intimacy, borrow the lines and tunes which 
chiefly set the house in ecstasies. His whistle abroad (which, 
disguise it as they may, all composers covet) suggesteth the air 
that shall be encored above all others ; his by-word of the day 
causeth the laugh which Mrs. Keeley, Miss P. Horton, and 
Miss "Woolgar love to provoke ; and, above all, his " Brayvo !" 
from the heights of the Haymarket, Lyceum, or Adelphi, chiefly 



THE BOYS IN THE STREETS. 69 

inspiriteth both audience and actors. For he is no mean feature 
as connected with " the present state of the drama." His voice 
keepeth the scene-shifters to their duty ; his call, from the gal- 
lery, of " Higher !" hath power to raise the very skies ; and he 
even commandeth the great Charles Kean to " Speak up !" 
when contiguous noise drowneth the sound of that eminent 
voice. And he often dispelleth the ennui of the audience during 
the entr'acte, by making his dangerous journey along the front 
of the rails from one side of the house to the other, when he 
wisheth to exchange greetings with a half-price friend. He be- 
lieveth that the whole orchestra is composed but of fiddlers, for 
he mentioneth them all as " catgut scrapers;" and he crieth out 
perpetually, throughout the entertainment, for " Bill SimmunsI" 
whom he expecteth to join him. He is anxious that everybody 
who is noisy, except himself, should be thrown over, or turned 
out ; but he liketh the commandatory rather than the executive 
power. He hath a merit of discovering ephemeral horsemen 
and livery-stable nags with a quickness scarcely inferior to 
that of a ,turnpike-man ; and if he detecteth in the equestrian 
a nervous temperament, he calleth out, "You'd better get 
inside, sir !" or he kindly saith, " Mind his tail, sir, or else 
it'll be shook off!" or he facetiously recommends him "to lay 
hold tight by his ears." And to all coachmen he crieth, " Whip 
behind !" more especially when there is nothing to whip. Or 
he telleth John Thomas to " look sharp after his calves, or else 
they'll pull him off his perch !" 

To coachmen, generally, he is a terror, and to none more than 
those who are waiting outside the theatres, half asleep upon 
their boxes, with their whips hanging over the pavement ; for 
the thongs of these he tuggeth in succession, exclaiming, " My 
eyes! there's a bite!" as the lash ilieth back, and possibly 
waketh the dozing Jehu with a cut across the face. And also 
by anglers at the Serpentine is he held in dread, inasmuch as he 
constantly recommendeth the fisherman to " Pull him up, sir !" 
when there is no necessity. Or he examineth the contents of 
the fish-kettle uninvited ; or, if the bites do not arrive so quickly 
as he desireth, he maketh artificial ones by pelting at the float, 
thereby causing it to bob. And this hath been known to dis- 
turb the fish in no small measure, so that they incontinently 
depart to distant waters, and is, above all others, an intrusion 
which your angler cannot abide. But herein doth lie the boy's 
greatest pleasure. 



70 WILD OATS. 

4. — OE THE SEASONABLE BATE AT WHICH THE BOY PBOCUBES 
HIS AMUSEMENTS. — OE HIS BEEBESHMENTS. 

The sources of income of the boy are numerous, but, at the 
same time, the results are small ; and so he is driven to 
patronise those sports and pastimes of the people of England 
which require the least outlay. His living is either earned or 
picked up. By the first, we mean that he may be in a regular 
place ; but if he is detained in-doors many of his most striking 
characteristics are destroyed ; for confinement to him is like a 
flower-pot to a forget-me-not. He must have air, and light, 
and water, and plenty of them, or he loses his richest attributes ; 
and so, of the ways of living, he prefers the second. "When you 
land at Hungerford, he is there, anxious to carry your carpet- 
bag the greatest possible distance for the smallest conceivable 
amount ; or if you shoot a cab flying in the street, he opens the 
door, pushes you in, bangs it to again, and touches the place 
where his hat ought to be if he had one, before you know he is 
near you. He will run miles after your horse, even after 
saluting you as aforesaid, upon the chance of holding it ; and 
were he certain that you would make a long call, he would en- 
deavour to turn a few dishonest halfpence by letting the aris- 
tocracy of his class have a short ride. But this is a species of 
money-making attended with some risk. 

All these payments, however, are a long time making up the 
sum of sixpence ; and when he gets this together, he goes to 
the play on a Monday evening, not caring how early he arrives, 
or how long he waits at the gallery door. Indeed, his patient 
expectation at this post appears to be part of the evening's en- 
tertainment ; for he will cluster there with his fellows some- 
times as early as half-past four. And spending his money in 
this way, he has none left for promiscuous diversions ; and so 
he studies in what way the greatest amount of amusement can 
be procured for nothing, or, at least, next to it. 

All street amusements, depending for support on the volun- 
tary contributions of the bystanders, we have before observed, 
he liberally patronises — with his presence ; at times contri- 
buting to their effect by allowing the wandering necromancer 
to fasten the padlock on his cheek, or becoming the victim 
whose head is to be cut off the minute ninepence more is 
thrown into the ring, to make up the sum under which the de- 
capitation, by some mysterious law of nature, cannot be per- 



THE BOYS IN THE STREETS. 71 

formed. But in this respect the boy is pretty safe ; for the 
ring resembles in some degree the toy of Tantalus's cup : you 
may throw hundreds of coppers into it, without ever getting 
the sum to rise above sevenpence-halfpenny. 

Generally speaking, all the enjoyments which those who have 
money purchase, the boy procures for nothing. He gets to the 
Derby by riding behind a number of vehicles, and changing 
them, as he is successively whipped off. He sees an execution 
from a lamp-post, even obscuring the view of those wealthy 
amateurs in such matters, who have paid a high rent for the 
first floor of the Lamb coffee-house. The crater of Mount 
Yesuvius at the Surrey Zoological G-ardens is sufficiently visible 
above the palings to allow him to enter into all the glories of 
the rockets and eruptions from the road; and he sees much 
more of Mr. Green in his balloon from the public road, than 
any of the company who paid for admission to behold what is 
termed " the process of filling" — consisting of the diverting ap- 
plication of a gas-pipe for several hours to a valve at the bottom 
of the huge looming machine in question, and not being a sight, • 
in the abstract, provocative of great joy or merriment. 

At fairs and festivals, it has long been received as a fact that 
the outside of the shows is the best part of their performance ; 
and this the boy enjoys to the utmost. He sees all the actors, 
and then, if he chooses, he can hear the dialogue of the tragedy, 
and the comic song of the countryman, by listening at the side 
of the canvas theatre. He gets a ride in the merry-go-round, 
by contributing his share of communicated force to impel it, 
or responding to the master's commands of " Holler, boys !" 
and raising a shout of enthusiasm to light up a glow of ardour 
in the breasts of waverers, who are debating between the 
hobby-horse and the halfpenny. And he sometimes, even, is 
admitted to the grand arena of equitation, as a reward for 
forming one of the awkward squad which Mr. Merriman drills 
on the platform. At races, he lies down at the feet of the 
people at the ropes, and gets a better view than anybody else ; 
and at reviews he comes off equally well by climbing a tree. 

Whatever the boy does not spend at the theatre goes in 
things to eat. For his consumption are those remarkable 
penny ham-sandwiches chiefly manufactured, as well as the 
numerous unintelligible comestibles sold on the stalls which 
border the pavement. In fact, the kerb is his club, offering all 
the advantages of one of those institutions, without any sub- 



72 WILD OATS. 

scription or ballot. Had lie a few pence, lie might dine equally- 
well as at Blackwall, and with the same variety of delicacies, 
without going twenty yards either way from the pillars in St. 
Clement's churchyard. He might begin with a water souchee 
of eels, varyiag his fish course with pickled whelks, cold fried 
flounders, or periwinkles. Whitebait, to be sure, he would 
find a difficulty in procuring ; but as the more cunning gour- 
mands do not believe these delicacies to be fish at all, but 
merely little bits of light pie-crust fried in grease — and as, 
moreover, the brown bread-and-butter is, after all, the grand 
attraction — the boy might soon find a substitute. Then would 
come the potatoes, apparently giving out so much steam, that 
the can which contains them seems in momentary danger of 
blowing up ; large, hot, mealy fellows, that prove how un- 
founded were the alarms of the bad crop-ites ; and he might 
next have a course of boiled feet of some animal or another, 
which he would be certain to find in front of the gin-shop. 
Cyder-cup, perhaps, he would not get ; but there is " ginger- 
beer from the fountain at one penny per glass ;" and instead of 
mulled claret, he could indulge in " hot elder cordial ;" whilst 
for dessert, he could calculate upon all the delicacies of the 
season, from the salads at the corner of "Wych- street, to the 
baked apples at Temple-bar. None of these things would cost 
more than a penny apiece, some of them would be under that 
sum ; and since, as at Verey's and other foreign restaurateurs, 
there is no objection to your dividing the " portions," the boy 
might, if he felt inclined to give a dinner to a friend, get off 
under sixpence. There would be the digestive advantage, too, 
of moving leisurely about from one course to another ; and, 
above all, there would be no fees to waiters. 

"We believe that of late years the taste of the boy in the 
matter of street refreshments is altering for the better ; and 
we are led to think so by the improvements which the tra- 
velling vendors of them are making in their establishments, 
and which now appeal to his artistic feelings rather than his 
idle curiosity. "We remember the time when kidney-puddings 
— uninviting constructions of the size of small oranges — were 
sold in the New Cut ; and the stalls were adorned with rude 
transparencies, to catch the eye of the boys. "We recollect 
there was the courier of St. Petersburg riding six horses at 
once for a kidney-pudding — a small reward, it is true, after 
such a perilous journey, but characteristic of the contentment 



THE BOYS IN THE STREETS. 73 

of the Eussian Empire ; and there was Richmond winning the 
kidney-pudding from Richard III. by single combat, the viand, 
without doubt, being intended to typify England in general ; 
and on another lantern was Mr. Grrimaldi as clown, making a 
face, with a string of sausages hanging out of his pocket. The 
connexion of this with the subject was somewhat vague, unless 
it was intended to show him as he appeared after swallowing a 
kidney-pudding. If this was the case, the expression of his 
face was not favourable to the desire of following his example. 
But now all these things are gone : the vendor no longer makes 
a hole in the pudding with his little finger, and pours in some- 
thing like lamp-oil and hot water shaken together, from a 
ginger-beer bottle. The stall is a portable kitchen in itself, 
with three elegant brass lamps at the top, in lieu of the paper 
lanterns: the kidney-puddings have yielded to entremets of 
a less ambiguous description. The neighbouring ginger-beer 
stand boasts elegant glass apparatus, and tumblers instead of 
mugs, and is even elaborately painted in arabesque patterns. 
One we saw, the other day, upon wheels, was green, and red, 
and gold ; and on it was written " La Polka." The general effect 
was good, but the analogy was difficult to trace. However, 
one thing is certain : the merchants have found that boys now 
bestow the greatest patronage upon the most elegant stalls, 
and ornament them accordingly. But of all these eating- 
stands, the chief favourite with the boys is the potato-can. 
They collect round it, as they would do on 'Change, and there 
talk over local matters, or discuss the affairs of the adjoining 
cab-stand, in which they are at times joined by the waterman, 
whom they respect — more so, perhaps, than they do the police- 
man ; certainly more than they do the square-keeper, for him 
they especially delight to annoy. And they watch any of their 
fellows eating a potato with a curiosity and an attention most 
remarkable, as if no two persons fed in the same manner, and 
they expected something strange or diverting to happen at every 
mouthful. 

5. — OP THE FINAL DESTINATION OF THE BOYS. 

We believe that if birds or animals, who have been taken 
into private life, are again cast forth upon the world, their 
fellows directly insult — not to say pitch into — them in a cruel 
and heartless manner. 

And it is so with the boys. The instant one of them is 



74 WILD OATS. 

thrown into society — by which we mean some position above 
that of the mere errand-boy or printer's devil, in either of 
which situations he is still, to all intents and purposes, the 
gamin we have been describing — that instant he is turned into 
game for his late companions. If he is a " page," they will ask 
him " what he'll take for his jacket without the buttons ?" If 
he is a doctor's boy, arrayed in that comical conventional cos- 
tume which medical men put their lads into — that sad struggle 
to combine the groom, footman, tiger, page, and knife-cleaner 
all in one — they will, if he is in a gig, shout out, " Ullow, 
doctor!" after him, to the indignation of his master; and if 
he is on foot with the oilskin-covered basket, they will stop 
him, attempt to bonnet him, and insist on looking into it. And 
here it sometimes happens that, instead of draughts and mix- 
tures, they will discover half-pounds of tea, eggs, or, indeed, 
mutton-chops, for one of the earliest maxims instilled into the 
mind of the doctor's boy is, never to go out without his basket. 
It looks professional, and gives neighbours the idea of exten- 
sive practice, whereas three draughts carried in the hand bear 
four-and-sixpence on the very face of them. If he turns 
his thoughts towards learning the art and mystery of a baker, 
they will rap on his basket as he carries it on his shoulder, or 
even go so far as to call him " Doughy ;" or at night, when they 
see him down in the hot lighted cellars, underneath the places 
where the pavement is always dry when it rains, and the snow 
always thaws when it falls, they will say, " I say, Joe, how are 
you off for hallum ?" or allude to " bones," and " sally moniac," 
and other popular prejudices. If he is a butcher, they do not 
insult him except at a great distance, or when he has got a 
heavy tray of meat that he cannot well put down. For they 
know that in this state he is pugnacious ; and that, unlike his 
threats in the boy state of existence, if he says he will punch 
their heads he is pretty safe to do it. 

We have done with the boys as they grow up, for then they 
cease to be so, and we lose all interest in them. Eew of their 
attributes remain ; they become grave and dull ; you would not 
recognise in the porter, the journeyman, or the carman, any of 
the eccentricities that marked their early career. The only 
positions in which their repartee remains of use to them, and 
is still cultivated, are those of omnibus cads, cab-drivers, and 
the touters at the pier-heads of rival steam-boat companies. 



( 75 ) 



YIL 

A FRENCH SCHOOL. 

The continual minor annoyances and ludicrous mistakes to 
which our knowledge of school French perpetually subjected us, 
induced us to think about some means of acquiring the lan- 
guage, not as we learn it in England, but as they speak it in 
Erance. We applied to several friends, touching the best 
means of attaining this end, and everybody said, " Gro into a 
school for a short time ; it is your only way." Thinking of the 
old adage, which teaches us what every one says must be right, 
we accordingly made up our minds to become a schoolboy once 
more, and started one morning in quest of an "institution" 
likely to suit our purpose. We called at several, but noife had 
the least idea of what a parlour-boarder meant, at least in our 
sense of the word ; and after splitting our boots to pieces in 
running up and down the Rue d'Enfer (whose miserably un- 
paved state entirely contradicts the statement that the " de- 
scensus Averni" is so easy, and shows Yirgil had not Paris 
in his eye when he wrote the .ZEneid), we at length settled 
with one in the Eaubourg St. Jacques, where we stipulated to 
have a bedroom to ourselves, to dine with the principal, and to be 
instructed in the Erench language for one hundred francs per 
month. Now, we had three reasons for going here. Eirstly, it 
was cheap ; secondly, it was near the Barriere Mont-Parnasse, 
to whose amusement on fete days we had a great predilection ; 
and lastly (we blush to own our cowardice), the Sieves were all 
"small boys" whom we could thrash into subjection if they 
were impudent, or halloo'd after us " Rosbif Anglais ," " God- 
dem" or any other entertaining polyglot witticisms that the 
said " small boys" of Paris, there called gamins, were apt to 
indulge in at our expense. 

It was a wet, dirty day, in the beginning of November, that 
we left our lodging at the Hotel Corneille, Place de l'Odeon, 
and hiring a porter at the corner of the Eue Eacine, paddled 
up the never-ending, and always dirty, Eue St. Jacques to our 



76 WILD OATS. 

new abode. On arriving, we entered the great gates, with 
which all Trench schools are embellished, and immediately 
carried our effects to our bedroom, which was a closet with a 
tiled floor, about eight feet square, and whose sole furniture 
was comprised in a little wooden bedstead without curtains, a 
deal chair, and a corresponding table, on which was a pie-dish 
to wash in, and a pint white jug for water. Had we been as- 
tronomers, the room would have had many advantages, since it 
was ingeniously lighted by a window in the ceiling, which, in fine 
weather, illumined our chamber very well, but in the event of a 
heavy fall of snow, left us nearly in total darkness. It was late 
in the evening when we arrived, so we went to bed at once, sup- 
plying the want of sufficient bed-furniture by an English great- 
coat spread over the counterpane, and a carpet-bag, emptied ot 
its contents, made a sort of mat to lay on the ground and stand 
upon while we undressed. 

Long before daylight the next morning we were aroused from 
our slumbers by a bell ringing to summon the poor devils of Sieves 
to the commencement of their studies. We heard much yawning 
and ^rambling after clothes, and then a silent and measured 
step as the usher assembled them, two and two, to march down 
stairs to school. About seven, the cook of the establishment — 
a dirty fellow, in a dirtier white nightcap — brought us a cup of 
milk and a piece of bread, which we were informed was to be 
our first breakfast ; the other was at half-past eleven. Unfor- 
tunately for us, we always had a great aversion to bread-and- 
milk ; w r e think it is neither one thing nor the other, and appears 
to hold an intermediate rank between tea and water. Although 
we remembered in our infancy to have possessed a book of nur- 
sery rhymes, written by some anonymous poet of the dark ages 
of infantile literature, where there w T as a picture of a little 
child, with very curly hair, dragging a respectable female, who 
looked something between a Sunday-school teacher and a bar- 
maid, towards a cow feeding in a romantic meadow ; and, more- 
over, some lines, which commenced, as far as our memory 
serves us : 

Thank you, pretty cow, that made 
Pleasant milk to soak my bread; 

and followed by some well-founded cautions not to chew hem- 
lock and other rank weeds ; still, we repeat, in spite of all these 
associations, we do not like bread-and-milk. Accordingly, 



A FRENCH SCHOOL. 77 

when we found this was all we were to be allowed before noon, 
we were out of temper, and getting up verj cross, we sauntered 
down into the playground to inspect our new residence. 

The reader must imagine a large court, enclosed on three 
sides by buildings and walls, and on the fourth by some 
palings communicating with the garden. The edifices on the 
right hand, were divided into numerous little cells, each having 
a door, and those were dignified by titles placed over the said 
doors. The first was called " Salle de M.usiqiie" and, in conse- 
quence, was fitted up with a cistern and leaden trough, where 
the Sieves performed their morning ablutions, when there hap- 
pened to be any water. Next to this was the " Salle de Dessin" 
or drawing academy ; and some empty easels, with a very 
rickety form or two, showed a great deal went on there. Then 
came the " Classe" or schoolroom, where the eleves studied 
under the surveillance of two ushers, who ordained a rigid 
silence amongst their pupils, save and except such times as the 
said ushers were on duty as national guards. On the other 
side the court was the dwelling-house and bedrooms, with the 
" Refectoire" of the pupils, where they fed ; and in the middle 
of the playground, which, from having two trees in it, was de- 
nominated the " Fare'' were divers gymnastic poles and bars, 
and a deep well, which supplied the establishment with w r ater, 
when anybody was at leisure to wind it up — an operation of 
half an hour. 

"We were tolerably hungry at eleven o'clock, and were not 
sorry to hear the bell for the boys' breakfast, as we knew ours 
came after. The pupils silently marched two and two into 
their room, and took their places at two long tables, where 
each boy had a fork, cup, and napkin laid for him ; tablecloths 
and knives were unknown. An allowance oipotage, seemingly 
composed of cabbage-water and bits of bread, was first served 
out to each ; after that, they had some vin ordinaire and water, 
but such wine — the only thing we could compare it to was ink 
and small beer mixed together — and when this was well di- 
luted with water, we could imagine how delicious it was. A 
course of boiled spinach came next, and the breakfast concluded 
by a dab of currant-jam being distributed to each, which was 
eaten with their bread, of which, however, there was an un- 
limited supply. This meal was repeated at five o'clock, with 
such agreeable variations as the taste of the cook directed ; but 
beyond small pieces of hard boiled beef, and little bits of calf's 



78 WILD OATS. 

liver, we did not see much meat. Potato salads, cold arti- 
chokes, and boiled lentils, appeared to be the staple articles of 
refreshment. The meals which we partook with the master and 
his family were about the same standard, except that the wine 
was superior, and some cotelettes of mutton and veal were 
occasionally displayed. The eleves themselves had none of the 
spirit of English schoolboys, and, indeed, it was not to be won- 
dered at. We could not help often contrasting the washy 
mess they were eating to the wholesome roast and boiled joints 
of our schools. They appeared to have no regular games or 
toys of their own, and all their play-time was spent in running 
after one another, with no other end that we could perceive 
but to warm themselves ; for although the weather was despe- 
rately cold, there were no fires, or even fireplaces, in several of 
the rooms. They never inflicted corporal punishment, but 
offenders were ordered to stand against a particular tree for 
half an hour, or be deprived of a dish at dinner. We thought 
it would have had a better effect to thrash them well, and feed 
them well. 

As we may imagine, from their early rising, they were gene- 
rally pretty well fatigued at night, and they were always in a 
deep sleep when we went to bed. As the way to our chamber 
lay through that of the eleves, we had frequent opportunities of 
inspecting it. It was a large bare room, with the beds arranged 
round it, and down the middle, like Roux's ward at the Hotel- 
Dieu, only the beds had no curtains. Some of the boys had 
little round mats by the beds to stand upon, but the majority, 
who could not afford to hire these luxuries of the master of 
the school, had the gratification of planting their naked feet 
on a tiled floor every morning. A dim and solitary lamp burnt 
all night in the chamber, barely lighting its extreme ends ; not 
an article of furniture but the beds themselves, and one chair 
for the usher, was in the room, and the windows all closed with 
that unattractive irreconcilability which is only known to the 
windows of the Continent. 

We contrived to get through a month at our institution, and 
then we left. We had, it is true, picked up a good deal of 
Erench, but in point of expense it had not saved us much, for 
— the truth must out — we never got enough to eat, and, in 
consequence, generally dined again at the nearest restaurant ; 
nay, more than once, we detected ourselves eating broiled 
herrings at a wine-shop outside the Barriere d'Arcueil. 



( ™ ) 



"vni. 

ALEXANDRIA TO CAIRO. 

Tea yelling on the Nile is not one of continuous poetic 
dreaming, when you do not come near any relics of antiquity. 
If you lose the Overland Mail transit steamer, as I did, from 
being kept in quarantine through a mistake, and have to hire a 
Tcandjia to go from Pompey's Pillar to the Pyramids, you must 
make up your mind to be bored, for five or six days and nights, 
beyond all endurance. 

On Monday morning, the 8th of October, 1849, finding that 
there would be no steamer for ten days, I determined to get 
up to* Cairo as I could, and went down with my servant (a 
clever Piedmontese attached to Eey's Hotel) to the water-side 
to select a boat. There are many always waiting to be hired 
here, and we selected one tolerably new and clean, fashioned 
something like a small City barge, but with two masts, fore and 
aft, and said to be a good sailer. The reis, or captain, asked 
four hundred piastres (a little more than four pounds) for the 
journey, but immediately took two hundred and fifty, with a 
promise of backsheesh if he and his crew behaved well. All the 
afternoon we were looking up our stores for the journey, which 
we packed in the useful, light, palm- wood crates, or cafasses, of 
Egypt. These consisted of the commonest knives, forks, plates, 
dishes, and glasses, a clay fireplace, a frying-pan, a coffee-pot, 
a wool mattress, and the crates full of fowls, eggs, and vege- 
tables. "We had also some luxuries, such as sardines, tea, two 
dozen of pale ale, and a bottle of cognac. Griovanni, the dra- 
goman, added two fine old, long-muzzled, hard-kicking guns ; 
and all these things, being heaped upon a truck, were taken 
down, by a guard of sun-baked, screaming little Arab boys, 
to the quay. "We joined the boat just below Pompey's Pillar, 
and pushed off from shore about seven in the evening. 

Alexandria is connected with the Jsile by the Mahmoudieh 
Canal, a channel between high banks, forty miles long, ter- 
minating at the village of Atfeh. The story of the formation 
of this canal is an oft-told tale, but I suppose I shall not be 
the last by many to relate it. It was excavated by order of 
Mahomed Ali, and a terrible undertaking it proved. With the 
impetuosity which distinguished all his acts, he dragged two 



80 WILD OATS. 

hundred and fifty thousand of the wretched Egyptian pea- 
santry — men, women,, and children — from the villages on the 
Nile, and set them to work to dig this canal, or rather to scoop 
it out with their bands, for they had no implements to assist 
them. The poor creatures had only brought provisions with 
them for one month's consumption ; and Mahomed Ali, deter- 
mined not to allow them any more when these were gone, kept 
them at work, under the lashes and pikes of his soldiery, until 
the blood streamed down their limbs, even of the children of 
four or five years old. Maddened by pain and famine, they 
tore up the ground with an energy that only desperation could 
have given them ; and the canal was made in the incredibly 
short space of six weeks ; but averaging the accounts of different 
writers, more than thirty thousand of the labourers perished in 
this period from torture and starvation. The bodies were thrown 
up with the clay by their fellow-sufferers, and assisted ty> form 
the banks ; so that the whole of the Mahinoudieh, between 
Alexandria and Atfeh, may be considered as one huge and 
ghastly cemetery. 

As we pushed off, four of the Arabs — thereVere seven in the 
crew, with the captain — sat in pairs on the deck, taking up some 
boards to drop their feet into, and began to row. They also 
sang a monotonous chant. The captain gave a word or two, 
and the others added a refrain ; it was to the effect that there 
was a fair wind, we were travelling famously, and everything 
was " all right." The wind was dead against us, and we were 
just moving. However, the East is said to be all romance. 

We occupied the first half-hour of our journey in stowing 
away our goods. Every time we moved a board or a box, a 
great black spider scuffled out and instantaneously disappeared 
down some favourite crevice ; and drawing the wooden blinds 
of the windows disturbed dozens. 

"We were not long in getting clear of the crow'd of boats 
that form the " pool" of Alexandria ; and then the Arabs left 
off singing, and began to tow. When they met with another 
Tcandjia, or came to two or three moored against the shore, they 
threw off their long blue shirts, and plunged into the canal, 
swimming dog-fashion, or throwing out their arms alternately, 
until they carried the rope round, and then they went on again. 
There was nothing to see during this part of the journey ; one 
might as well have travelled in a railway cutting of dry dusky 
mud. About half-past nine the sail went up, on turning a 
corner, and then we began to move ; and, not being particularly 



ALEXANDKIA TO CAIEO. 81 

amused, I "turned in," in nautical phrase, which consisted in 
taking off my coat and lying down upon a thin mattress placed 
on a broad shelf, and then I dozed for about two hours. I was 
waked up at midnight by the intense stifling heat, and, looking 
up to the window, I saw a rat, larger than an average-sized 
kitten, perched on the sill immediately over my head. He did 
not move when I sat up, and I had nothing to throw at him 
but my boots ; so I pulled up the blind very suddenly, and 
thus frightened him so that he leaped into the water. And 
now a nuisance far more irritating arose : the mosquitoes came 
in such legions that I was nearly eaten alive. Clothes appeared 
to be no protection, and when I got up at last, half mad, and 
went and sat upon deck, they attacked me with tenfold spite. 
The moon was shining with a brightness I never witnessed in 
England, and in its light the deck and cabins appeared 
swarming with horrible things — cockroaches, beetles, spiders, 
and centipedes. Any more sleep was out of the question, and 
I sat upon a crate until morning, when the greater part of these 
abominations shrank from the heavy fog into their fastnesses, 
and then I tried to get a little more sleep. 

Tuesday, 9th. — A dead calm, and the boat made very little 
way ; the high, dingy banks still continued, and I was glad 
when Giovanni contrived from his rude kitchen to turn out a 
wonderful breakfast of cutlets, fowl and rice, potatoes, toast, 
and coffee. A wild dog, having smelt the cooking, followed us 
for miles ; but, with the exception of a boy on a ragged camel, 
he was the only living thing we saw on the banks for three or 
four hours. The crew still threw off their clothes and tumbled 
into the canal on the least occasion, but were singularly quiet : 
they did not appear to speak to one another all the day long. 
I occupied myself in fitting up my cabin, driving pegs into the 
cracks to hang my watch, looking-glass, lantern, and " house- 
wife" on, and running down the spiders, until two o'clock, 
when we passed some trees and arrived at Atfeh. This was a 
village of mud-huts, on either side of the canal, thatched with 
grass and fodder, without windows, but having irregular holes 
for the inmates to crawl in and out. Some had round mud 
towers built on them, swarming with pigeons. Half-naked 
women, and children entirely so, were selling coarse bread 
under huge umbrellas. Arabs were idling about in the dust 
and sun, which they seemed to prefer; and there was a com- 
plete "jam" of the most incomprehensible boats I ever saw, 
of which all the crews were screaming and swearing at the top 

G 



82 WILD OATS. 

of their voices, banging one another with poles, breaking each 
other's rigging, or going coolly down to prayers in the middle 
of all the uproar. We had to wait more than two hours for 
some sort of passport, and, at last, got clear of the entangled 
thicket of boats, and, passing through the locks, swung out 
into the Nile. 

I could see nothing ahead, astern, or around, but one bound- 
less rapid current of reddish clay-coloured water, for the inun- 
dation was scarcely subsiding ; but the expanse was a great 
relief after the confined pestilent canal. The stream was so 
strong, that, before we got up our sails, we were carried a long 
way down. However, there was a brisk north wind, and we 
soon began to rush through the water. Opposite to Atfeh we 
passed Eooah, a town with minarets and domes, which looked 
well in the afternoon haze, rising as it were from a mighty lake. 
Here the country got very desolate again, with a flat Essex- 
marsh sort of look-out on either side, and at dark the wind fell, 
and we pulled up under a bank for the night, if necessary. 
One advantage over yesterday was, that we had got rid of the 
mosquitoes. There were several ordinary gnats and flies, but 
I set a trap for them with great effect. This was very simple, 
and was formed by opening the door of the lantern, and hang- 
ing it near an open window : in the morning the bottom was 
half an inch deep in semi-consumed corpses. 

Wednesday, 10th. — I found, on awaking, that we had been 
creeping on, almost imperceptibly, nearly all night ; and at six 
in the morning we were nearly thirty miles above Atfeh. As 
the Arabs tumbled into the water upon the kcmdjia running 
aground, I tumbled in too, and had a good long swim. It was 
utterly contemptible, however, trying to compete with them : 
they shot through the water like wager-boats. All the day we 
kept gliding on, passing many more villages of mud-houses, 
looking like clumps of enormous thimbles ; and now and then 
we saw several small processions of men along the banks on 
donkeys, asses, and camels ; and here and there was a solitary 
palm ; but with the exception of these, the scenery still main- 
tained its Essex-marsh character. 

The Arabs continued very silent. One of them was the 
cook to the party, and he was never away from the fireplace, 
boiling up lentils with coarse bread. This was their only food, 
and they drank the Nile water. I found to-day that the meat 
we had brought from Alexandria was touched by the heat ; so 



ALEXANDRIA TO CAIRO. 83 

I gave it to the crew, who soon disposed of it. They threw 
lumps of it on the live embers, and so broiled it. 

The mosquitoes had gone, but the flies were almost as bad. 
They took possession of the cabin, and would not be driven 
away, worrying me almost into a fever. At last I cut out one 
of the paper-net "fly-catchers," and hung it from the roof. As 
night came, they all settled on it ; and then I gently moved it 
away, and sent it floating down the Nile, with its freight of in- 
truders. This was all the excitement of the day ; but at night 
there was a terrible skirmish amongst the rats, who, attracted 
by the fowls, appeared to be boarding the boat in all quarters. 

Thursday, 11th. — The morning broke with a dead calm. Now 
and then the wind came in little puffs, and then died away again. 
The monotony of the voyage was broken by a fight between 
Giovanni and one of the Arabs, or, rather, my servant had it all 
on his own side. The man objected to get into the water to tow, 
upon which the dragoman gave him a good thrashing with a rope, 
and then he got overboard and worked away well. 

About noon the wind came, and all the afternoon we amused 
ourselves with shooting hawks and ibises, of which there were 
great numbers. I also shot a sicsac ; one of the birds reported 
to get into the crocodile's mouth and pick its teeth of parasitical 
water-animals. It had sharp points on the top of its wings, 
which the Arabs said were to keep the crocodile from closing 
its jaws. When the birds fell, the Arabs dashed overboard just 
like spaniels, and brought them back in their mouths. 

It was curious to see how they watched us. "Whatever we 
were about — eating, washing, or reading — they never took their 
eyes from us, but followed every movement. Their actions 
were singularly like those of a monkey : they picked up small 
things and examined them carefully, usually trying them first 
with a bite ; and an old envelope I had thrown on one side was 
a matter of great scrutiny : they could not make it out at all ; 
but after passing it round, and apparently offering many opinions 
on it, they put it by carefully under a board. Giovanni told me 
they were all thieves, but stole singularly minute things — odd 
bits of string, useless lucifers, knobs of sealing-wax, and such- 
like rubbish. At night a good rattling breeze came on ; and 
whilst we were surging through the water, I amused them with 
some common-place conjuring tricks, from which time I was re- 
garded as a great magician. 

"We anchored alongside a village at night, and I got rid of 



84 WILD OATS. 

the flies as before. About one o'clock I was lying awake, and 
hearing a throbbing noise up the river, I looked, and saw a 
light advancing. It came on, and in a few minutes I found it 
was the Overland Mail steamer, homeward bound. This little 
incident was very impressive. The boat came near enough for 
me to shout out, " Good night !" which was returned by one or 
two persons on deck, surprised, I have no doubt, at the familiar 
salutation from the moored Jcandjia. I watched this out of 
sight ; and then, after a look at my crew, who had completely 
wrapped themselves up in canvas until they looked like mere 
bundles, and were lying about in the bright moonlight, I turned 
in to sleep. 

Priday, 12th. — The people in the village commenced making 
such an unearthly riot at daybreak, that, as there was no wind, 
I made the Arabs tow us up some miles higher to another 
clump of houses. A large traffic-boat from Cairo had stopped 
here, crammed with peasants, many of them blind ; the majority 
of them had but one eye, and all the children were suffering 
from ophthalmia. The passengers landed and bought bread, like 
pancakes, of other women who came down to sell it. The Arabs 
kept on towing, but very slowly. I do not think we made 
above a mile an hour; and at noon, with a suffocating hot 
wind dead against us, they pulled up at a village, and said they 
could not go on, because there was a shallow just above us right 
across the river, and that we must wait for a wind to take us 
over to the other bank. I was very angry, but to no effect ; so 
we lay broiling under the sun until three, when they punted 
across, and we started again. They had only dawdled about from 
sheer idleness. In the afternoon a cripple, with limbs shock- 
ingly distorted, and hands webbed like fins, swam off from a 
hovel on shore to beg money. The wind now came on dead 
against us ; the towing-paths were all under water, and the men 
really could not track the boat, as they did not know where 
they were going, and every now and then disappeared into 
deep holes ; so we were obliged to come to a stand- still again, 
and made fast for the night under a bank of osiers. We amused 
ourselves and the Arabs by making little rafts of palm-wood, 
putting bits of lighted candle on them, and launching them off, 
one after the other, down the stream. As there was no wind, 
they burnt very steadily, and, when several were started, looked 
very pretty. The Arabs said the peasants would think they were 
devils. This night was the worst I ever passed in my life. The 



at.f.x IHDB3U TO CAIRO. 85 

: brought the mesauitees again in over whelming force; 
the rats came along the ropes from the land and scuffled 
our very feet : the spiders and cockroaches were in fa] 
and a man. or successive men. beat a drum ashore] in samereli- 
nony, all night long. A verdict of " Temporary In- 
sanity" would hare j astined anything that a man might 
done under these inflictions. 

Saturday, 13th. — I routed all the men up at six. and, as there 

was the usual lack of wind, aet them to work. They grtiinbled 

at going into the water whilst it was so cold; bur I soon s ; sttled 

this, and at seven we were iairly off. I was so heartily sick of 

the boat, with its delays and fficonvenienees, that we stopped 

liage, and tried to get some camels or donkeys tc ride en 

to Cairo, "across country." Tae people, however, were so 

ably poor, they had nothing : and I was geti ing all o g e I b e r 

ben a brisk wind sprang up and blew us along 

bravely a press of sail that almost nfted the fed :."':'.: cut 

: water. About noon GKovanni s is the Pyramids 

on the horizon, and soon after we rounded the apex of the 

Provisions were running short, but i: was not 
•while to buy any more : so I had a " serareY' dinner of i 
roni. potatoes, onions, and Iding, all chopped op together 

which was really capital. Tae wind kept up. an 
and-by we came to the great worlds erected for the barrage :: 
the Nile, which is :: cost leal and not ultimately answer. 

Then villages came quickly after one another, and the people 
ned ;:: the banks. Anon palaces, h ;Y.a\ and beautiful 
gardens diversified the prospect: the ci Based : 

the Pyramids rose niche:' above the scenery. Then I saw rni- 
• and towers, on and away on ;ur left: and at last, just 
in time to save ourselves from being locked out for the 
the kanJjia sto: landing-places o: Beoiak. the 

port of Cairo. 

Giovanni soon procured donkeys, and, leaving the boat in 
ajcabs, we rode on. We first passed through 
Eoolak, with swarms of dogs yelping after as — as many as I 
had sec:: at Constantinople: then along neat Oriental s 
with picturesque wooden-latticed u - walls, over 

we saw dates and prickly pears growing; . .1 at last, tra- 
g a cool English-looking road, borde 
entered Cairo at the Bsbefeeyah, and pulled up at the British 
hated beyond all measure to have d; 
time. with the INdle and the kandjia. 



( 86 ) 



IX. 

A GO-AHEAD DAY WITH BARNUM 

[The reader will see, by the date of the following paper 
(which preceded its appearance in JBentley' > s Miscellany by a 
few months only), that it was written long before Mr. Barnum 
himself gave his version of the day's excursion in his Auto- 
biography. One or two of his companion's opinions were put 
into the mouth of Mr. Eossett in • The Scattergood Family," 
distorted to suit the circumstances of the story ; but most of 
the following remarks are nearly word for word as the author 
heard them.] 

"We saw more on Thursday, the 5th of September, 1844), than 
ever we did in our lives in one day ; and this is how we came 
to do it. 

For the first time for several years we found seven consecu- 
tive days that did not require our actual presence in London— 
an entire week, from the beginning to the end of which we 
could escape from the pen that we had been chained to, like a 
galley-slave to his oar, in the continuously painful process, or 
rather intention, of being always " funny !" And so we got off 
at once, not telling any one where we were going to, that no 
letters might be sent after us ; and we determined upon having 
a week's scamper upon the railways, and see some of the large 
towns. For although we had twice walked from Geneva to 
Milan, we had never been above six hours' journey from Lon- 
don, in our own country. But this, we believe, is by no means 
a peculiar idiosyncrasy of English character. Well, we visited 
Bath, Bristol, and Clifton, Cheltenham and Gloucester, a day 
at each ; and after seeing pins made at Phipson's, and buttons 
at Bullivant's, and papier-mache ornaments at Jennings and 
Betteridge's, and electro-type articles at Elkington's, we came 
back to our hotel at Birmingham, and began to think gloomily 
about returning. 

"We were certainly very agreeably disappointed in the ap- 
pearance of Birmingham. Before people see a person or a 
place, they always form an idea to themselves of what he or it 



A GO-AHEAD DAY WITH BARNUM. 87 

is like, and they are always decidedly wrong in their notions. 
"We had pictured Birmingham* as a town of narrow streets, 
bounded by dingy buildings, with blackened and many-paned 
casements, and surrounded by forests of tall chimneys that 
never had a holiday, but were taught to smoke as soon as they 
could be trusted alone, and never left off after it. And instead 
of this, in the first short stroll we took before breakfast, we 
found a large clean town, with a pure country air blowing about 
its handsome streets. No smoke, no forests of chimneys — no 
blacks to fly in at the window and pollute everything that was 
clean in the apartments ; and the people, instead of the squalid, 
miserable race, that strong-penned humanity-mongers love to 
work up into an effect and an appeal to the sympathies, were a 
healthy, happy-looking set enough — fat and rosy if you will — 
even to the children who were going to their labour at the dif- 
ferent factories. In good truth, we felt rather out of conceit 
with ourselves in the absence of that dirt and misery which 
we had determined was right and proper to be seen at Bir- 
mingham. 

"We were at breakfast in the coffee-room of Dee's Hotel, 
writing off a quantity of "slips" to London, when the head 
waiter, who had been regarding us some time with much at- 
tention, inquired : 

"Ask pardon, sir. Literary gentleman, sir?" 

The question was put with such civility, that at the risk of 
rendering him anxious about the spoons and forks, we said that 
we were something of the sort. 

" Thought so, sir," he replied, " because I saw you only wrote 
on one side of the paper. Quite a treat, sir, to have a literary 
gentleman to wait on ; don't mind nothing that I can do for a 
gentleman as can write a book. I've seen Sir Edward Bul- 
wer write, sir." 

"Indeed!" 

" Ah ! that I have, sir. Nice gentleman. He used to come 
and write at the hotel I lived at at Bichmond. And smoke — 
how he did smoke ! — a long pipe, sir ; and then he went from 
the hearth to the table and put down what he'd thought of, and 
then come back again." 

The conversation was here disturbed by an unwonted tumult 
and hum of voices in the street whereon some of the windows 
looked. There was also a similar riot in the yard ; and in both 
places we found some three or four hundred people assembled, 



88 WILD OATS. 

apparently in eager expectation of seeing something wonderful. 
The mystery was soon solved* Two grooms opened the door 
of a coach-house with important gravity, the boys set up a 
great shout, and the Lilliputian carriage of General Tom Thumb 
drove out into the street amidst the turbulent cheers of the 
spectators. "We directly found that the small General was 
sojourning in our hotel; and the waiter called our attention 
to a tall, active person who was arranging the cortege, and cuff- 
ing the more intrusive boys into order, saying he was also a 
literary gentleman — Mr. Barnum, Tom Thumb's governor. 
We had met him once before at M. Baugniet's, the artist's, and 
found him so very original and amusing, that we determined to 
renew the acquaintance. On his return we found he intended 
to go to Stratford the next day, and Kenilworth, if practicable, 
and we immediately offered to join him. But he said we must 
" go-ahead," and we certainly did. 

At five o'clock next morning — a period of day we had only 
seen before when coming home with blinking eyes and jaded 
limbs from an evening party — Barnum was at our bedroom 
door, and at six we were at " The Hen and Chickens," in JSTew- 
street, waiting for a coach. It soon came up — a pair horse one 
— with a regular old-fashioned English coachman on the box, 
a stout, jolly man, who was a most perfect type of that once nu- 
merous class which is fast departing from the earth in company 
with the legitimate drama, sedan-chairs, and North Americar. 
Indians. 

After leaving Birmingham, the road is, at parts, exceedingly 
picturesque, with occasional glimpses of fine old abbey-looking 
churches, and ancient villages. 

" "We've none of them old fixings in ' Merrekey,' " said 
Barnum ; " they've no time to get old there." 

We inquired how that was. 

" Why, you see, a man never builds a house to last above a 
year or two, because he's gone-ahead in that time, and wants 
a bigger one. And go-ahead is our motto. Shut the fire door, 
sit on the safety-valve, and whop the sun. We've no bonds on 
airth that can keep us back." 

We attempted a feeble joke about those of Pennsylvania, but 
it did not make a hit. So we 'said, " Are you all alike ?" 

" I reckon we are," said Barnum. " As Yankee Doodle says, 
the chief end of all men is to get money. So we don't ' swop 
even' in any case, but strive to have the pull always. If you 






A GO-AHEAD DAY WITH BAENUM. 89 

fail, you're called a ' Do ;' if you succeed, you become a capi- 
talist. There's just the same difference between a hung rebel 
and a crowned conqueror." 

" But what does the world say to this — I mean America?" 

" "Well, that is the world, I reckon. Who cares what it says ? 
The world's only a bugbear to frighten timid people. If you 
care for what people say, get lots of money, and then you can 
make them talk as you "like. They call me humbug now. Very 
good, I can afford it. They won't, some day." 

"We had so frequently heard Barnum called a humbug, that 
we did not even venture the courtesy of saying, " Oh, no ! you 
must be mistaken." 

" I'd sooner be a humbug than anything," continued Barnum, 
"if it's what my experience leads me to believe it is. Humbug 
is, now-a-days, the knack of knowing what people will pay 
money to see or support. Anybody who's up to this is safe to 
be called a humbug by everybody who isn't." 

As we approached the little village of Henley-in-Arden, it 
came on to rain very smartly, and we got wet through. "We 
were all, however, in such good humour with ourselves and 
everybody else, that we laughed it away ; and Barnum's prin- 
cipal laugh was against the coachman, who had been declaring 
all along that there was not the least chance of rain. Barnum 
asked him "if it always came down so in "Warwickshire?" to 
which he replied, " Tes ; he'd never known it come down from 
anywhere buttheskie." Our friend was somewhat "riled" at 
being thus sold ; but he had his revenge, for a minute or two 
afterwards, when the coachman inquired " if he was afraid of 
catching a cold ?" Barnum answered, " Not at all, for the 
horses w r ent too slow to catch anything." 

In the village just spoken of we saw the name of " Shak- 
speare, hairdresser," over a little shop, and this gave rise to 
some more of our friend's speculation. 

" JSTow if that barber was just to write a play," said Barnum, 
" it wouldn't be thought anything of, however good it was, till 
he'd been dead no end of years. You talk a great deal about 
your Shakspeare being the pride of England, but I can see 
nobody knew or cared a cent about him while he was alive, or 
else you'd have known more of him now. If he'd been a living 
author, and I'd had my exhibition, I'd have backed the General 
to have shut him up in a week." 

We alighted at the "Red Horse," at Stratford-upon-Avon, 



90 WILD OATS. 

after our soaking journey. It was so cold and dismal we had 
a fire lighted ; and during the time we were waiting for our 
breakfast we read "Washington Irving's " Sketch Book," a copy 
of which is kept in the parlour of the inn. All that por- 
tion pertaining to it, and Stratford generally, has been so 
thumbed, and mended, and pencilled, and spliced, that we have 
some idea of starting a subscription to present the " Bed Horse" 
with anew copy. For, being kept for public perusal, visitors 
cannot have a more kindly or pleasant guide to introduce them 
to the Shakspeare house and church than its good author. 

As we were paddling up to the house in which " the divine 
Williams"* was born, Barnum observed : " The General's father 
Stratton, isn't a man of much reading. He always travels with 
us, and when we came through here before, from Leamington, 
whilst he was at breakfast I said to him, ' Come, make haste, or 
we shan't have time to seethe Shakspeare room.' * Oh!' says 
he, ' Shakspeare ? Who's he ? I didn't know the General was to 
exhibit here.' And then I found he thought Shakspeare was 
somebody who let public rooms." 

The tenement in Henley-street is a humble-looking place 
enough, with a public-house on the right hand and a small 
abode, with a shed, on the left. It is inlaid with rough beams 
black with age ; and there is a rickety, tumble-down board 
over the door, very like an inn-sign, which might be taken 
down with advantage. The room into which you pass from the 
street was a butcher's shop ; the fittings-up still remain, but 
the business is not carried on. It also has a small shed before 
the window, and the floor is paved with irregularly-shaped 
stones. 

We must confess — and it is, we know, only short of high 
treason to say so — that our enthusiasm was not in any way 
excited by entering the room, after ascending the flight of 
stairs from the dark back-parlour, in which " le vieux Guil- 
laume," as Janin says, is reported to have uttered his first cry. 
There is not the slightest ground for the haziest supposition 
that he was born here ; and hence we have not been so much 
cut up and utterly prostrated with indignation at the report 
that the Shakspeare house was going to be sold and taken to 
America — we believe Barnum to be the purchaser — as some of 
our acquaintance. He might just as reasonably have been born 

* Vide French authors, passim, when they quote English. 



A GO-AHEAD DAT WITH BAENUM. 91 

at his father's copyhold in G-reenhill-street, or, more properly, 
at Ingon, on the "Warwick-road. Interesting, perhaps, the 
room is, from the recollection of the pilgrims who have visited 
it; and valuable, to the owner, from the shillings collected 
there — too valuable, we should expect, to be readily allowed to 
go into other hands. A decent elderly woman did the honours 
of the house. She had been there some time, and took great 
pleasure in pointing out the different names of note in the 
visitors' book. The worn appearance of the page on which Mr. 
Dickens put his autograph attested the curiosity to see it. It 
was followed by that of Mr. Forster. The old housekeeper recol- 
lected Mr. Washington Irving coming there twice, with Mr. 
Willis, Mr. Everett, Mr. Forest, and other Americans — indeed, 
their numbers predominated over those of other foreigners. 

" I see you've got pictures here, ma'am," said Barnum, 
pointing to a portrait. 

" Yes, sir," said the old lady, in stately tones, " that is the 
only one ; a likeness of Shakspeare." 

" Yery good," replied Barnum. " It wants a companion. 
I'll send you a portrait of the G-eneral from Birmingham ; and 
you can hang it up too, you know, the other side." 

And then, having signed his name as " P. T. Barnum, U.S., 
Guardian of General Tom Thumb," in the book, where it may 
still be seen under the above date, he took his departure, leav- 
ing with the old lady a quantity of the little cards the General 
used to distribute at his levees, and begging her to tell the 
Shakspearian visitors that he was to be seen every day at Dee's 
Hotel, Birmingham. 

From the house to the church is a walk of ten minutes, pass- 
ing a very fine old specimen of ancient architecture in the street 
leading to the church, on the right hand, about one-third of the 
way down. The chancel is very picturesque, and had lately 
been restored. There are various monuments about, which 
elsewhere would be interesting, but all are here overlooked for 
the chief one. It is on the left hand, near the communion- 
table, eight or ten feet from the ground ; and in front are some 
tombstones pointing out the last resting-places of several mem- 
bers of the poet's family, including his daughter and her hus- 
band, Mrs. and Dr. John Hall. There are two books in an 
adjoining chapel- — one of which the clergyman owns — in which 
the visitors sign their names. "We asked if Mr. Dickens's was 
here also ; but the man sighed at the question — it was evidently 



92 WILD OATS. 

a sore subject. " No, sir," he at length replied, "it is not. I 
never knew it was Mr. Dickens until he had gone, for some 
visitors were here at the time. I ran after him, but it was no 
use." He was evidently much hurt that the house in Henley- 
street had an attraction superior to the chancel. 

One of the latest names in the book was that of a lady of the 
Lucy family of Charlcote, whose ancestor provoked the lampoon 
from Shakspeare connected with the deer-stealing. 
■This brought up the anecdote. 

" There again, now," said Barnum, as he prepared to wafer 
one of the General's visiting cards on the monument, saying it 
w r as for an advertisement — " there again, if he had been alive 
now, I reckon the critics would have pitched into him consider- 
able. Fancy if your Sheridan Knowles or Douglas Jerrold was 
caught rabbit-stealing, what a row there'd be, and how they'd 
get it." 

Returning to the inn, we went on to "Warwick in a fly, our 
friend beguiling the journey all the way by anecdotes of his career 
as an " exhibitioner" in America. He is, it seems, the pro- 
prietor of a large establishment in New York called the Ame- 
rican Museum — from what we could make out, something 
between Madame Tussaud's and the Polytechnic Institution ; 
and to stock this place with wonders, next to spreading the 
renown of the General, were all his efforts directed. 

" A man has quite a right to take in the public if he can," 
observed Barnum. " He's fighting single-handed against all 
creation, and it's the greatest credit to him if he whops 'em, for 
they are long odds." 

We asked him what species of attraction he most relied on 
at his Museum. 

" Oh, anything," he replied, " from Niagara to bell-ringers. 
I got the Falls up first-rate, I can assure you — all Croton 
water ; * and I placarded the model as sending down no end ot 
hogsheads a day. But the Croton Company were very steep, 
for they came down upon me, and says, ' How's this, Mr. 
Barnum ? you contracted with us for the average supply to the 
Museum, and here you are getting rid of tons every day.' ' All 
right,' says I ; ' let's bring it to trial.' And to a trial it came. 
' Well,' says the company, quite prepared to shut me up, ' we 
find on such and such a day, several months back, you began to 

* The Croton aqueduct supplies New York with water. 



A GO-AHEAD DAY WITH BAENUM. 93 

send down these no end of hogsheads a day.' c So I did,' says 
I, ' but only once ; for then I pumped them back again to the 
tank, and used 'em all over again.' Tou should have seen how 
the company looked : just as if it had had nothing for dinner 
but an appetite for the last six months. It shut them up, 
though." 

"But you said something about bell-ringers ?" 

" Oh ! — yes — I should think so. They were the Lankayshire 
lads you had in London, but I called them the Swiss Youths. 
I engaged them here, and I said, ' Now let your mustachios 
grow, and you'll be downright foreigners by the time you get 
to the Museum.' * But,' says they, speaking in their country 
fashion, which was uncommon grating, to be sure, ' how '11 they 
take us to be Swiss ?' ' Well,' says I, ' if you always speak as 
you're doing now, the devil himself won't understand you.' 
And sure enough, when they got there, nobody did ; but they 
drew a heap of money to the Museum." 

"We found the borough of Warwick very lively as we entered, 
for it was the day of the races, and all the natives had turned 
out in their holiday costumes. After a luncheon at the War- 
wick Arms, where the table was kept laid out all day for 
droppers in — and there was a large piece of cold boiled beef, 
which almost made us believe the race of descendants from the 
renowned Dun Cow was not yet extinct — we walked up to the 
lodge of the castle. On knocking at the gate it was opened by 
an important old retainer in livery, who asked us if we wanted 
to see the castle. 

" Well now," said Barnum, " what the devil do you think we 
came and knocked here for, if we didn't ?" The old man 
looked very indignant, and recollected the affront. 

We then sauntered through a shady alley, apparently cut 
through the solid rock, covered with climbing plants of every 
species, until we came to the castle. Our only notions of War- 
wick Castle had, up to this period, been connected with Mr. 
W. H. Payne, who so comically enacted the Earl Guy, in a 
pantomime, three or four years before, at Covent Garden ; and 
when we peeped in at one of the wickets, we almost expected 
to see the awful guard with the unnaturally large head come 
out and bang us with the terrible club filled with spikes ; or 
Miss Farebrotker's beaming face appear at one of the case- 
ments. But nothing extraordinary occurred. There was no 
guard, no Dun Cow, no Guy, no Miss Farebrother. We passed 



94 WILD OATS. 

under the gateway perfectly unmolested, and were received by 
the butler at the entrance of the inhabited portion of the castle, 
and by him conducted over the apartments, most of which 
command the most enchanting views of the park and silvery 
Avon. 

But, let us pause a minute in our day. Directly, we shall 
speak of Warwick Eaces, and how Barnum engaged a giant ; 
his great " "Washington's nurse" bubble ; Kenil worth and Co- 
ventry ; and, as a rider to the paper, the whole history of the 
""What is it?" deception, "from authentic documents," as 
they say in advertisements, " never before made known." 

•Js* w 3nF sjfa ?%$ ^P 

There is a great deal to see in "Warwick Castle, and Barnum 
wanted to buy everything that struck him, for his American 
Museum. The New Yorkites ought to patronise it, for cer- 
tainly no pains or expense are spared to make it attractive. 
He tried to bid for a pair of horns of a gigantic elk — dug out 
of some bog in Ireland — which adorn the hall. Then he was 
struck with some fine paintings of Leicester and Essex — the 
favourites of Elizabeth — and a Circe by Guido ; and lastly, he 
saw a picture, by Rubens, of St. Ignatius. 

" I reckon he founded them Jesuits," he said. " I've seen 
that picture in the ' Everyday Book,' and know all the story 
about him." 

The story was, that St. Ignatius, being in the depth of winter 
at Cyprus, on his return from a pilgrimage, wanted to go to 
Venice ; but the captain, disliking his seedy appearance, told 
him that if he was a saint, he could walk upon the water very 
well without a ship ; whereupon Ignatius set sail upon a mill- 
stone, and arrived safely at Yenice. 

" JSlow, I don't believe that," said Barnum. " If it was trew, 
you'd see all your high-pressure Exeter-Hall people start off 
some morning with the tide for Gravesend, floating comfortably 
upon pavement flags ; and, I calculate, that would astonish the 
steamers." 

Upon leaving the inhabited part of the castle, we crossed 
the lawn, and ascended to the summit of Guy's Tower, stopping 
on the way to look at some guard-rooms in the interior. The 
view from the ramparts, as well as from the summit, was most 
enchanting ; and the white canvas booths of the race-course, 
fluttering in the sun and wind, formed pleasing objects in the 
panorama. There were sly niches in the embrasures for arrows, 



A GO-AHEAD DAY WITH BARNUM. 95 

and other artful perches to shoot from, all the way up. Alto- 
gether, in its days of prime, "Warwick Castle must have been a 
tolerably tough place enough to have attacked. Barnum him- 
self allowed that America couldn't have taken it. 

When we came down from the tower, another vassal, who 
appeared old enough to have recollected Guy himself, hobbled 
across the grounds with us to the greenhouse, wherein was 
placed the Warwick "Vase. When he had assembled an au- 
dience x he got a stick, hopped upon the steps of the pedestal, 
and began its history in a true showman-like manner, and then 
we went back to the lodge. 

In the left-hand tower, as you enter, are deposited the won- 
derful relics of the immortal Guy, and the old man who had let 
us in showed us the curiosities with great dignity. Besides 
ourselves, several country families, who had come into Warwick 
for the races, were the spectators. 

" This," said the old gentleman, " is Guy's porridge-pot" (it 
was a large caldron two or three feet across). " When the 
late heir came of age, it was filled with punch several times, 
and taken on to the lawn. This is his flesh fork" (a sort of 
metal prong) ; " and this is his walking-staff. This is the 
armour he wore when he fought the Dun Cow, and this is 
the armour his horse wore. This is a rib of the Dun Cow, aud 
this " 

" I say, old fellow," interrupted Barnum, " I should reckon 
you'd told these lies so often that you believe them to be trew. 
What'll you take now for the lot ?" 

The old man was very indignant. He had evidently never 
been spoken to so before. 

" Just as you like," replied Barnum. " But I'll get up a 
better set than these within six months at my Museum, and 
I'll swear mine are the real originals, and bust up your show 
altogether in no time." 

The idea of reducing the display of the relics to a mere show 
so hurt the feelings of the old retainer, that he did not con- 
descend to address us any more, except when we gave him a 
trifle upon leaving. And this is an arrangement connected 
with the exhibition at Warwick Castle which might be im- 
proved with advantage. We were confided to the care of four 
guides, and they each expected a gratuity after they had led us 
over their different departments of the property. 

" I don't mind the tin," said Barnum ; " but it's too much, 



96 WILD OATS. 

and don't look nat'ral anywhere out of St. Paul's Cathedral 
and your other expensive religious peep-shows. We whop you 
to smash as a free and intelligent nation in that, I reckon." 

From the castle, a walk of ten minutes brought us to the 
race-course, and amongst the shows he was in his glory; in 
fact, he never looked at the running. 

" Ask the opinion of the respectable company who are now 
leaving the caravan," said the showman, as his audience de- 
parted. 

"We followed his advice ; and, on being told that it was ll un- 
common good to be sure," we paid threepence each, although 
Barnum fought hard to be classed with the " servants and 
working people," a penny. But the show-people soon found 
him out as the governor of Tom Thumb, and the news was 
carried along the line of exhibitions as if a telegraph had taken 
it. Whilst we were waiting, there was another race, which 
provoked the following dialogue between the clown of the show 
and the proprietor : 

Clown. — " Now, sir, let us have a bet upon the race." 

Master. — " I never bet, Mr. Merriman." 

Clown. — " Never mind, sir. I'll bet you a bottle of black- 
ing, and you shall have first drink of it, upon the favourite 
against the field." 

Master. — Done, Mr. Merriman." 

Clown. — " Then I've won, sir." 

Master. — " How so, Mr. Merriman." 

Clown. — " Because the field's never moved at all." 

The inside of the caravan was a compact little place, with the 
usual chintz drapery drawn across the end of it, a very bright 
brass fireplace, several mysterious lockers, made to sit or stand 
upon, bits of coloured glass let into the smartly-painted door, 
and a canary in a cage, singing through all the din outside. 
When it was full, the master showed us two gigantic females, 
nearly seven feet high ; a pacific-looking African, with some 
cock's feathers stuck in his head, who passed to the Warwick- 
shire lads and lasses as an Ojibbeway, and with whom Barnum 
was acquainted ; a trained monkey, and some serpents, one 
of which the keeper was represented wearing, as a mighty 
cravat, on the picture outside. 

We waited until the exhibition was over; and, when the 
people had left the caravan, the showman said to Barnum : 

" I know a dwarf in Lambeth that Tom Thumb could put 
in his pocket ; only she can't chaff like the General." 



A GO-AHEAD DAY WITH EABNUM. 97 

" No," said Barnum, " I reckon not. They're precious few 
that can. The General can chaff the sky yellow when he 
pleases. He's a regular screamer. But who's this dwarf — 
Emma Pattle ?" 

He appeared to know all about the dwarfs all over England — 
in fact, the exhibition wonders of every kind. 

" That's her," said the man. 

" Pooh!" returned Barnum. "Tom Thumb put her in his 
pocket ! Stuff! none of them can touch him. They hire 
children that can't walk and ain't weaned, and put them into 
top-boots and cocked-hats to make Generals, but it's no go ! 
Now, look here ; do you know a good giant, who'd go out to 
Merrekey for my Museum ?" 

" Why, you've got one," said the man. 

" Ah, but I want another, to get up an opposition against 
myself. Don't you see ?" 

"There's Bob Hales," said the Indian; "he's over seven 
feet, but he's got his own caravan, and it wouldn't be worth his 
while. I don't know where he is, too." 

" Oh, he's in Leicestershire," returned Barnum, evidently 
acquainted with all his movements. 

The Indian here mentioned another tall man of his acquaint- 
ance, in the last show of the rank. He had not spoken of him 
before, because the affair was an antagonistic one. So Barnum 
at once proceeded onwards. 

" The giants know me," he said. " The last I had broke his 
engagement and set up against me ; but I put him in prison, 
and there he is, safely kept until I want him." 

The bargain was soon concluded. The giant was to start by 
the " Washington," which was to sail in a few days from Liver- 
pool, and he was to have seven pounds a week for salary, besides 
a military suit to exhibit in. We then hired another fly, and 
went on to Coventry, pausing at Kenilworth in our way, and 
going through Leek Wootton, a small village, near which 
Edward the Second's favourite, Gavestone, was beheaded. 

The ruins at Kenilworth are not on the main road, but a 
short detour is necessary to arrive at them. As our fly stopped 
at the modest wicket, it was literally stormed by children with 
eighteenpenny guide-books in their hands, which they struggled 
earnestly to dispose of, almost to the hindrance of our leaving 
the carriage. Then they offered to lend them to us for a very 
small consideration, and finally, when we were inside, the poor 

H 



98 WILD OATS. 

things thrust them under the door, and threw them over the 
wall, with their handkerchiefs tied to them, as a last forlorn 
hope. Barnum could not withstand their perseverance, and he 
purchased one of a bright-eyed doll of seven years old, who, 
having disposed of her stock, scampered home across the 
common as fast as her little legs would carry her. Indeed, he 
bought everything everywhere, and it was all for the American 
Museum. 

" I've sent them over the court suit that the General wore 
before her Majesty," he said. 

"We humbly suggested that we had seen it the previous day 
at Birmingham. 

" So you did," he replied ; " but the one I've sent over is so 
like it, that the tailor couldn't tell which was which. They'll 
crowd to see it ; there's nothing like a bit of state or aristocracy 
to catch a Yankee, with all his talk." 

"We went on. On entering the ground, by the side of the 
great gatehouse, you first perceive a board, which informs you 
that "the old chimney-piece may be seen within for sixpence." 
This is well worthy of inspection, as well as the old wainscoted 
room in which it is placed. The greater part of the building 
appears to be used as a storehouse for meal and apples. Upon 
leaving this, you are left to wander where you please : an excel- 
lent arrangement, since nothing is more annoying than tagging 
about at the heels of a mechanical, calculating guide. It is this 
voluntary strolling that renders a visit to Hampton Court so 
agreeable. Kenilworth is, indeed, a ruin, but no ruin can be 
more noble in its desolation — for which it is more indebted, by 
the way, to the hands of Cromwell's officers, to whom the manor 
was given, than the ravages of time. Not a single chamber of 
the once magnificent pile remains ; all are levelled to the turf 
or choked up with rubbish, which nearly everywhere affords an 
easy path to the top of the walls and towers, so that, without 
closely studying the localities, it is difficult to follow them in 
connexion with the novel. The lake has long been drained 
and filled up ; the chase is built upon and cultivated ; and the 
garden has fallen to an untidy and uncared-for orchard. 

It was a lovely day. The old ruins glowed in the sunlight, 
which burst through the Grothic window-holes and embrasures 
to fall on the short turf below in flickering patches, as the wind 
gently moved the festoons of creeping plants and ivy that 
crossed them. The noble trees were waving in all their full 



A GO-AHEAD DAY WITH BAENUM. 99 

and deep autumnal foliage against the clear blue sky, bowing 
gracefully to the light breeze that played with their branches. 
But within the enclosure of the ruins the air was quite still. 
The wild flowers did not even tremble ever so gently on their 
stalks, and the insects poised themselves apparently in the 
same position, as no breath came to disturb their floating rest. 
In the space once occupied by the hall, a large and youthful 
party had assembled there for a pic-nic — a more beautiful spot 
for such a meeting it is impossible to conceive — and their loud 
merry laughter echoed again through the old arches and pas- 
sages. At a short distance, in a recess of the " Caesar's Tower," 
as it is foolishly called, a more quiet assembly had gathered, in. 
a very Boccacio-like group, round a young lady, who was read- 
ing Scott's gorgeous romance of " Kenilworth." Their rapt 
attention evidently showed that, following the author, they had 
again restored and peopled every part of the old castle, and that 
Amy Bobsart, Yarney, Leicester, Tressilian, and Elizabeth were 
once more flitting about the still noble pile around them. 

" I took above a hundred pounds a day, in shillings, for the 
General at Birmingham and Manchester," said Barnum, suddenly 
turning the train of our thoughts on to a down line. " Pretty 
steep business, wasn't it ?" 

"We could think no more of Amy Eobsart, but, rising from 
our seat upon an old mossy window-sill, walked by his side to- 
wards the gate. 

" It was all a chance, though," he continued. " I brought 
over a thousand pounds from New York with Tom Thumb, and 
I spent every farthing of it in your country making him ' go,' 
and all with Englishmen ; so you needn't have screamed so, 
after all. The Liverpool Chronicle folks know it, I reckon, for 
they were the first I saw. The General didn't draw, though, at 
first. It wasn't till I got him to London, in Markwell's private 
house, that he did anything. And then I made no charge ; but 
I put a plate on the table, with a sovereign or two in it, and 
they took the hint first-rate." 

The road from Kenilworth to Coventry is very continental 
in its appearance, being straight, with rows of trejes on each 
side, having bolls of earth heaped round the lower parts of 
their trunks. Begarding the route, there is an anecdote told 
of a dispute between two commercial travellers at an inn, as to 
which was the most beautiful ride in England, each offering 
that he knew best. At last a wager was made, and they were 

h2 



100 WILD OATS. 

both to write down the name of their favourite journey. On 
coming to the decision, it was found that one had chosen " from 
"Warwick to Coventry," and the other from " Coventry to 
Warwick." The road, however, scarcely appeared to merit the 
eulogium. 

As we rode on, Barnum told us of the most extraordinary 
" do" that had ever been practised on the public, of which he 
was the prime mover. He had, by some means or another, pro- 
cured an old toothless negress, and by a series of consummate 
schemes, succeeded in passing her off all through America as 
" Washington's nurse." As the President was born in 1732, it 
may be conceived what age the old creature was reported to be. 
He wrote documents, dipped them in tobacco- water, hung them 
up the chimney, and rubbed the corners of them, to give them 
an appearance of age ; he drilled the object into the part she 
was to play, created a furore wherever she appeared, and drew 
the dollars into his treasury faster than he could count- them. 
At last the old woman died, and great was the fresh excitement 
in the medical world as to the state of the vascular system in a 
person presumed to be so old. High prices were paid to be 
present at the autopsy; the first American medical men as- 
sisted at it, and one, who was to conduct the post-mortem ex- 
amination, gave a lecture beforehand upon the probable vast 
extent of ossification of the arteries that would be met with. 
But no — there was nothing of the kind (as well there might 
not be ; for, after all, the poor woman was not above sixty), 
and the bubble was at once burst. The whole of the New York 
press opened their artillery upon Barnum, but his 'cuteness led 
them into their own fire ; and a literal fortune was the result 
of the trick. 

At last the carriage crossed the railway by the bridge of Co- 
ventry, on which Alfred Tennyson "hung with grooms and 
porters," and put us down at an inn in the street, at the corner 
of which Peeping Tom is represented as looking out upon Lady 
Godiva. Her costume is certainly not that of 1044, when the 
occurrence of her ladyship riding such a pose plastique kind of 
attire through the streets of Coventry is reported to have taken 
place ; in fact, there are very good reasons for believing that 
the whole affair is a fiction, and that it arose in the madcap 
times of Charles the Second, when Lady Godiva first figured in 
the " Show-fair" procession, as it was called, dressed (or, more 
properly, undressed) in a style that quite accorded with the 



A GO-AHEAD DAY WITH BARNUM. 101 

licentious manners of the epoch ; and so we mistrust the me- 
morial of the circumstance, which is said to have been pre- 
served in stained glass in one of the windows of Trinity Church 
until about the fifteenth century, and, according to Dugdale, 
represented Leofric presenting to his spouse a charter, with 
these words inscribed thereon : 

I Luriche for love of thee 
Do make Coventrie toll free. 

St. Mary's Hall and St. Michael's Church are well worth, a 
visit. The latter, built in the early style of architecture, is, we 
believe, the largest parish church in England, at least so Barnum 
said, seeming to know all about it ; and it looked now exceed- 
ingly beautiful in the ruddy light of the evening. After this 
we walked about the city, noticing the method the butchers 
have of beautifying their meat by skewering little bouquets, so 
to speak, of fat about them, a custom we had not noticed else- 
where. Here Barnum entered into an arrangement with a 
wandering exhibition of animals of dissimilar habits all in one 
cage, that we met by chance, and he settled that they were to 
accompany the giant. 

At a quarter past nine we quitted Coventry station, and 
arrived once more at Birmingham, at ten, heartily tired with 
our excursion, having, in one day, visited Stratford-on-Avon, 
"Warwick Castle, the races, Kenilworth, and Coventry, by the 
united aid of coach, fly, phaeton, railway, and our own legs. 

As we expressed our fatigue at supper, Barnum said, " Well, 
I don't know what you call work in England, but if you don't 
make thirty hours out of the twenty-four in Merrekey, I don't 
know where you'd be at the year's end. If a man can't beat 
himself in running, he'll never go ahead ; and if he don't go 
ahead, he's done." 



( 102 ) 



X. 

CERTAIN" TOURISTS. 

1. — WHICH IS MEEELY THE SETTING: EOETH ; AS WELL AS 
TOUCHING THE HEAT. 

Theee is something absolutely refreshing in this blazing, 
baking month of June — at least to ourselves, and, we trust, to 
you — in turning to the subject of this paper. There certainly 
never was such weather in England. It looks as if June had 
become rather tired of riding on the Crab, on which, according 
to Spenser, " he bent his force contrary to his face," and had 
changed places with July, " boiling like to fire, that all his gar- 
ments he had cast away," in which primitive fancy dress he was 
now braving a coup de soleil about Great Britain. 

There is no cool to be got anywhere. In town it is perfectly 
insane to look after it except in a sherry-cobbler, or a very 
large glass of claret-cup, and the reaction of this indulgence is 
something fearful. "We believe the story of Bruce cooking his 
beefsteaks on the glowing rocks of Abyssinia, for the first time. 
"We would wager on this present twenty-second of June, which is 
shamefully late for a magazine article, we confess ; and harasses 
the printers ; and, with reason, worries Mr. Bentley; and gets us 
a bad name ; and must by no means be mentioned as a precedent 
for magazine writers — we would wager anything light and sum- 
mary — a hundred- weight of congealed Wenham Lake, or a gos- 
samer paletot ; twelve tickets for Peerless Pool ; a dozen of iced 
Seltzer water, or the wettest blanket of any one's acquaintance, 
which, wrapped about a substance, might produce cold b} r eva- 
poration — that we could poach an egg, or cook a "Welsh rabbit, 
anywhere upon the pavement in Kegent- street, whilst one of 
the sixpenny Lowther-arcade sand-glasses — which never do them 
correctly in the normal state of things — was running out. 

The omnibuses are insupportable. Their roofs are like the 
hot plates that we are told foreign conjurors teach turkeys to 
dance upon ; and their interiors are like ovens. There is no 



CEETAIK TOUKISTS. 103 

shade anywhere ; excessive heat seems to have warped the very 
sunbeams, and endowed them with the power of twisting round 
corners and far under colonnades. The very fountains are tepid 
—a few more degrees of Fahrenheit and they would emulate 
the Geysers ; and the gold fish in globes appear to be under- 
going a process of gradual parboiling. Nor is the country any 
better ; the lawns are all turning to heaths ; the grass is making 
itself into hay ; the birds are too hot to sing, and nothing is 
heard amidst the gasping vegetation but the restless chirping 
of hot, thirsty grasshoppers. On the roads horses throw up 
clouds of dust, and large loose stones throw down horses. The 
meadows are gaping, in all directions, with model earthquakes, 
and the breezes are a great deal too lazy to stir themselves ; 
there is not even a draught of air to be got in the third-class 
carriages on the railways. Everything, everywhere, is dying 
with heat, except Lascar street-sweepers, Bengal tigers, Lally- 
baloo Toll Loll, on a visit to England, and specimens of the 
cactus. All else must be commiserated, and most especially the 
poor Polar bear at the Zoological Gardens, who looks the imper- 
sonation of torrid wretchedness. 

And on account of all this we find something refreshing in 
our subject. The sultry promenade of the gent, the blazing 
foot-lights of the ballet-girl, the close stifling room of the 
country medical man, and the arid dusty rubbish-heap of the 
boys in the streets, cannot be thought upon for a moment. But 
the idea of the tourist is suggestive of pleasant things just at 
present — of clear still lakes, too deep to be boiled by the sun ; 
and cool rivers flowing through dark gorges, babbling and 
tumbling along forest slopes under impenetrable foliage; or 
falling, bright and feathery, for some hundred feet down the 
shady side of a mountain ; of glaciers, too, which might contract 
safely to supply eternity with sherry-cobblers, could a sufficient 
supply of wine be relied upon, with the currents of iced water 
cutting their own channels, and their borders of wood-straw- 
berries ; of wild demi-civilised places where you may knock 
over all conventionality in dress, and scarcely know that such 
things are, as neckcloths, black hats, cloth coats, and gloves. 

2. — OP THE INCENTIVES TO TEAVEL. 

Mighty as is the rush from England, when the season is over, 
to strange localities, yet all are not influenced by the same mo- 



104 WILD OATS. 

tives. Many save up at home for nine months of the year, to 
squander abroad the other three ; many more go off to pull in 
their expenditure. Some go — there are really invalids — for 
health; others, hypochondriacs, to see whether the foreign 
doctors cannot find something really the matter with them; 
others go to write books, and others to make sketches ; but by ' 
far the greater proportion travel from motives of popular imi- 
tation, known commonly as fashion. Take the members of a 
family in whatever circle you please, and you will find that, 
however high they may themselves carry their heads, there is 
somebody whom they look up to, and studiously endeavour to 
imitate in every particular of their domestic or family existence. 
This feeling extends both ways in the scale of society, affecting 
every link of the great chain. Let us attempt to show, in a 
series of graduated examples, how it sends everybody travelling, 
as soon as the curtain of the opera has descended upon the last 
twinkling feet of the ballet, the last speech has provoked 
cheers or crowing within the walls of St. Stephen's, and the 
last grand reunion of the season has collected the long lines of 
private and lamped carriages along the sides of Piccadilly and 
the streets that debouchent into it. 

Rank the First, 

The Countess of Princeton is an acknowledged leader of the 
aristocratic circle. Her name is always amongst the ladies- 
patronesses of the most exclusive reunions, and the list of royal 
and patrician guests at her parties occupies half a column of the 
Morning Post. She has one or two daughters ; the second, 
Lady Blanche Rosebud, is very beautiful, and the Eight Ho- 
nourable Viscount Hampton has paid her some attention during 
the season. He is young, and handsome, and very rich. So 
that when it is ascertained Lord Hampton is going in his yacht 
— the finest in the R. T. C. — to Naples, Lady Princeton settles 
to go there as well, in the hopes that a twilight lounge in an 
orange grove, or a sleepy cruize along the bay, with the not 
unimportant accessories of skies, climate, and general associa- 
tions, may bring about a proposal, and so we soon read amongst 
the departures — " The Earl and Countess of Princeton and 
Lady Blanche Rosebud, from Belgrave House, for Naples." 

Rank the Second. 

Lady "Wingfield reads the above paragraph, and forthwith 



CERTAIN TOURISTS. 105 

determines to go abroad. Sir John WIngfield is only a knight, 
but of tolerably good family ; and his possessions and interest 
are so great in a county, of which it is in contemplation to 
start Hampton as a representative at the next election, that 
the Countess of Princeton finds it polite to notice the family. 
Hence they are invited to entertainments at Belgrave House, 
and the brilliant fetes at the velvet-lawned, river-washed villa 
at Twickenham. Hence the Countess herself presented the 
pretty trembling Amy Wingfield at Court. Par consequence, 
Lady Wingfield imitates the Princetons in everything ; not ser- 
vilely, but still she imitates them; and when she finds that 
they are going to Naples, and hears further that they will 
return through Switzerland to Baden, she determines to go to 
the latter place, and be thrown in their way without the ap- 
pearance of hunting them up ; and she knows, furthermore, 
that this will annoy The Haggis, a great Scotch chieftain,, 
whose family turn up their noses even more than nationally at 
the Wingfields, but, nevertheless, have not the entree at Belgrave 
House, and are going to Baden also. For in every rank of life 
there is a Mrs. Grundy ; each sphere has its " Browns" to 
astonish ; and so, in a day or two afterwards, there is another 
fashionable departure in the Morning Post, and the world learns 
that the Wingfields are gone to Baden. 

Bank the Third. 

Mr. and Mrs. Brown Holland visit Lady Wingfield. Their 
names were formerly Mr. and Mrs. Holland, but somebody left 
them some money and the name; and it is difficult to tell 
which they were most pleased with. Whereon they left Upper 
Bedford-place, Bussell-square, and took such a house, one of 
the most elegant in the new city that has risen out of the 
ground between the Edgware-road and the Bayswater tea- 
gardens — all Louis Quatorze and candelabra. And they took 
some new friends with the house — the Counts Patchouli and 
Corazza, and ColoneL Grab of the .Spanish Infantry, and other 
distinguished persons, including crowds of scarecrow men in 
niustachios, whom nobody knew, and with whom their parties 
were always overdone. The Wingfields are the great people, 
however, of their acquaintance, and they determine upon fol- 
lowing them at once to Baden, making no attempt to conceal 
the manner in which they imitate them, but thus expressing 
the sincerest flattery. 



106 WILD OATS. 



Rank the Fourth. 

The Higgses are retired tradesfolks, and live at one of those 
houses at Clapham which you always see lighted up coining home 
from the Derby. Our friends above notice them, because Mrs. 
Higgs's carriage is at times very convenient for Mrs. Brown 
HoDand to go out in ; and Mrs. Higgs is too happy to lend it, 
in return for the patronage the lady bestows upon the Higgs's 
girls generally. There are three daughters, who have all been 
educated at Miss Burton's, at Boulogne, and so speak French 
very well ; and as soon as Mrs. Higgs finds that the Hollands 
are going out of town, she tells Mr. Higgs that it is absolutely 
incumbent upon them to go too. Mr. Higgs does not at first 
see the necessity, but is obliged at last to consent, and Paris is 
determined on. They do not know much about Baden, and are 
not to be trusted a great way by themselves in the German 
language. Besides, Mrs. Holland persuades them from going 
there, as she does not altogether wish the "Wingfields to see how 
intimate she is with the Higgses, and tells them that there is 
very little amusement at any of the G-erman baths. So they 
finally settle upon Paris, by Mrs. Brown Holland's recommen- 
dation to an excellent hotel, stopping a little while at Capecure 
for bathing. 

Rank the Fifth. 

"Whilst Mr. Higgs was in trade, Mr. Startin was his head con- 
fidential clerk, and in consequence of this, Mr. and Mrs. Startin, 
who live at Islington, and have more children than even mar- 
ried clerks in general are surrounded by, are asked once a year 
to dine with the Higgses, the party being arranged for the 
purpose. Be sure that the Hollands are not amongst the 
guests on this occasion. "Well, the Higgs girls take Mrs. 
Startin into their room, and are quite affable, and show, her 
the hothouse, and give her some flowers, and play new polkas 
to her, and ask her where she is going this year. To which 
Mrs. Startin answers she don't exactly know, nor indeed does 
she, for with her little family a change is not so easily managed ; 
but this puts into her head that she ought to go somewhere ; 
and so when she leaves at night with Mr. Startin, in a cab, 
which will be dismissed at the Elephant and Castle for the 
Islington omnibus, she tells him that they must really "go out 
of town, or else "it will seem so strange!" "Within ten days 



CERTAIN TOURISTS. 107 

they are all at Eamsgate — a start rendered more speedy by the 
complaint of Mrs. Startin that that nasty pain has returned to 
her chest, and she is sure that nothing but warm sea-bathing 
will remove it. 

Rank the Sixth. 

In the counting-house wherein Mr. Startin at present pre- 
sides is a junior clerk, Mr. Tiddy. He lives somewhere up very 
high behind Crosby Hall, and dines at Eucklersbury during 
the week, and on Sundays very often strides up to Islington, 
where he finds a knife and fork at Mr. Startin' s table always 
laid for him ; and in the evening he takes the children for a 
walk along the New River. He believes in the family to the 
fullest extent, and pays the utmost deference to Mr. Startin's 
opinion in everything ; so that when he finds that they are 
going out of town, he intimates that he ought to go as well. 
But as leave of absence is difficult for minor clerks to procure, 
Mr. Tiddy can only go within an hour or two of Mincing-lane, 
and therefore he takes a moderate bedroom at Gravesend, look- 
ing forward still to Sunday, for a glimpse of the sea, when he 
contrives to pay a visit to the Startins at Eamsgate, not a little 
gratified at showing them that he also can have a holiday. 

And by these and similar influences are the autumnal tour- 
ists determined, acting on each other's opinions in such regu- 
lar gradations, from the proudest to the humblest, that with 
very little difficulty a perfect " House-that- Jack-built" kind of 
rhyme might be formed upon their migrations. 

3. — OP THE CONVENTIONAL TOTJEIST. 

Theee is another class distinct from the ranks we have just 
enumerated, and that is composed of the tourists who travel, 
not from any particular enjoyment that it gives them, but be- 
cause they think it proper to do so ; just as people eat salt 
fish on Ash "Wednesday. Mr. Julius Praps may be taken as a 
type of this class. TVe will describe him. • 

As August approacheth, he sayeth that he hath an invitation 
to shoot over ten thousand acres of moor, but that it is a bore, 
and he meaneth to travel. He letteth his mustachios grow 
thereby, and buyeth a handbook, a knapsack, and a pair of 
shoes ; he ordereth a blouse, and pervadeth London after pass- 
ports. He also getteth a journal, and a solid sketch-book ; but 



108 WILD OATS. 

after the first week he useth neither ; and thus he sfcarteth for 
Boulogne, on his way to Switzerland and Italy. 

At Boulogne he seeth much novelty, not having been on the 
Continent before. He speaketh frightful French, but, in his 
innocence, thinketh it the thing ; he drinketh much brandy, 
because it is cheap, and also claret, and well-nigh getteth drunk. 
Being green abroad, he describeth a diligence that he hath seen, 
as a wonderful thing, to the company at the table d'hote, and 
sayeth that it is droll to hear the children speak French ; both 
which things have been frequently done before. He maketh a 
purchase of a pair of large fur gloves, not that he wanteth 
them, but he is struck with the novelty and price ; and after- 
wards he knoweth not what to do with them. 

Formerly he took a place in the coupe because it was genteel, 
and looked with disdain upon the " bad style of men" that 
loved the banquette, nor did he commune with them when they 
stopped for dinner at Abbeville. 

At Paris he goeth to Meurice's, or Lawson's, and seeth the 
sights by rule, as they are put down in the handbook. He form- 
eth his notions of Paris in this wise. He stayeth at an Eng- 
lish hotel, and is waited on by English servants. He meeteth 
nought but English people at the table d'hote ; he hath an Eng- 
lish laquais de place, and readeth the English papers. He 
buyeth even English things to take home with him, at shops 
where they write up "English spoken here," and speaketh 
English himself, all day long. And then he sayeth to himself, 
(i When I get home I will write a book upon Paris and its 
people." He thinketh it right to dine once at Very's, or 
Phillippe's, and once at the Trois Ereres ; and delighteth in 
ordering the dinner himself, albeit he maketh wild shots at 
the dishes, and if there is a party of three or four, amazeth the 
gargon by ordering a portion apiece for everybody. He doth 
not much like the Erench theatres, but goeth as a duty, and 
laugheth with the audience, as do many at the Erench plays in 
London ; but he understandeth not- a line he heareth ; and 
therefore doth he prefer the Cirque. He findeth that his clothes, 
brought from London, produce not the effect he desireth in 
Paris, and thereon riggeth himself out in the Palais-Eoyal. But 
he doth not approach nearer to the Erenchman for all that, and 
when he goeth to the Chemin de Eer, and asketh, " Esker eel 
e ar oon train, mossieu, poor Grenave ?" he is disgusted to 
hear the clerk reply incontinently, " Yes, sir, every morning 
at eight o'clock." 



CEETAIN TOTTKISTS. 109 

In Switzerland he walketh much, but hath a guide to carry 
his knapsack, and telleth people at inns that he hath an inten- 
tion of going up Mont Blanc. But the intention vanisheth as 
he approacheth Savoy, and at Chamouni disappeareth alto- 
gether, inasmuch as he there contenteth himself by saying that 
he knoweth a man who hath been up once. Hebuyeth a paper- 
cutter of white wood at the Bighi Culm for his study-table, 
and a salad spoon and fork for his aunt, from whom he hath 
expectations, and who asketh him much on his return about 
"William Tell, with whom she thinketh he must have been ac- 
quainted, her whole idea of Switzerland being confined to that 
apocryphal (as it really appears) individual, and the time of the 
Swiss Boy. But he knoweth little except that which he readeth 
in the handbook; nor doth he ever deviate from the route 
they lay down in the slightest degree. He goeth to Grindel- 
wald, and sayeth that the Grlacier is only a lot of ice, but still 
it is proper to see it, not as an amusement, but to say after- 
wards that he hath been there, which appeareth to be the great 
end of all his travels. And w T hen he starteth for Italy, he 
crosseth the Simplon in the night, to save time, and get the 
quicker to Italy, whereby he doth not get a sight of any por- 
tion of the pass. But at Duomo d'Ossola he readeth all about 
it in the handbook, and his end is answered. And now he 
taketh care not to let anything astonish him, or at least to 
appear as though it did, thinking that he is an experienced 
traveller. And he joineth little in the society of the table 
d'hote, but taketh notes as if on the sly, that the company may 
think him to be a great author, travelling in disguise, to write 
a large book. And, indeed, he hath an intention of trying to 
do something for a magazine on his return ; but he nndeth, to 
his disgust, that it hath been done before. 

At Venice he hireth a gondola, and boasteth that he hath 
seen all the churches in one day ; and he goeth through the 
ducal palace, not that he findeth interest in its associations, 
but because it is a place that must be visited solely to talk of 
afterwards. He stoppeth at Venice twenty-four hours ; after 
which he pronounceth it the " slowest" place he ever was in, 
and declareth that it hath been much overrated. At Verona 
he goeth to the tomb of Juliet, whom he confuseth with some 
actress, but cannot call the tragedy to mind with distinctness : 
nevertheless, he buyeth a model of her tomb, and determineth 
to read it on his return, or go and see it acted. And then he 
visiteth every place mentioned in the handbook, the which he 



110 WILD OATS. 

yawneth over, as doth an admirer of Verdi at Exeter Hall ; and 
when he seeth the amphitheatre, he sayeth to himself, " This is 
very fine, but not to be compared to the Cirque Olympique in 
the Champs Elysees, or even Astley's." 

He devoteth two entire days to Florence, and is on his legs 
from six in the morning until ten at night, looking at every 
picture and statue, not to admire it, but to say that he hath 
seen it, on future opportunities. For, as far as enjoyment 
goes, he < thinketh the Venus equally good which adorneth the 
shop of the ingenious Italian opposite the stage-door of Drury 
Lane Theatre. 

Eome he liketh not, nor taketh pleasure in its remains ; for 
he careth not for the ancients, his associations being alone con- 
nected with dog's-eared Virgils and ink-stained Commentaries. 
Eut his handbook directeth him to see everything, and he 
* laboriously obeyeth it, albeit he findeth nothing so agreeable 
as our own Colosseum in the Eegent's Park ; and wisheth that 
the Pope would engage Mr. Bradwell to renovate the city. In 
his heart he voteth Eome a " sell," and hateth the ruins, from 
recollections of the cane and Latin mark. 

And thus he yawneth and fatigueth himself for three months 
about parts of Europe, having become footsore to obtain glory 
at home, as pilgrims go to Mecca to be put on the free-list of 
the Prophet's paradise, and he remembereth nothing that he 
hath seen, no more than the passenger by an express-train can 
call to mind the stations that he shooteth by. But he believeth 
that he hath attained a higher rank in life by being able to talk 
of where he hath been ; and he remarketh, at dinner-parties : 
" Once, when I was crossing the Simplon," or " During my re- 
sidence at Florence," whenever an opportunity occurreth, and 
sometimes when it doth not. And if by luck he encountereth 
a tourist who hath not been to Florence, but speaketh highly 
of Danneker's Ariadne at Frankfort, he sayeth forthwith, " Ah, 
but you should see the Venus de Medici." Yet he recollecteth 
it but slightly, and the other he hath no notion of, beyond that 
furnished by a pose plastiqiie. 

But the greatest pleasure, after all, that one tourist knoweth 
is to talk down another, and to this end chiefly doth our tra- 
veller look for distinction. 



( 111 ) 



XL 

MR. LEDBURY REVISITS PARIS, AND IS IGNOMINIOUSLY 
EXPELLED FROM HIS LODGINGS. 

We have lately heard a little news of an old friend, with 
whom we were once upon terms of considerable intimacy for 
some time — Mr. Titus Ledbury, formerly of Islington. "We 
should not have intruded this intelligence upon our gentle 
readers, had we not been frequently asked what had become of 
him; and as they ever evinced a disposition to receive him 
courteously, and looked upon him as a simple, kind-hearted 
creature, who, if he did not create any remarkably out-of- 
the-way sensation, never, at all events, offended those to whom 
he was introduced, we make bold once more to bring him into 
their presence. 

The London season was in a confirmed state of rapid decline, 
so far gone, indeed, that immediate change of air to a more 
congenial climate was universally agreed upon by everybody. 
The carriages sensibly diminished in numbers in the parks and 
at the "West- end ; Opera orders were abundant, and sometimes 
people got a box who had never been in one before, and dis- 
playing their innocence thereof by buying a bill and hanging 
it over the edge, pinned to the amber satin, and mistaking Mario 
for Sims Eeeves, and Balfe for Mr. Lumley. The concerts were 
all over, and the light halls of "Willis and Hanover- square, and 
the dirty — we had well-nigh said " grubby" — room of Her 
Majesty's Theatre, no longer bottled up well-meaning people, 
who had been guilty of no offence, and therefore did not deserve 
such treatment, from noon till dewy eve. 

Fashionable entertainments, too, diminished. This dansants 
and dejeuners a pied — from lack of seats — were no longer 
chronicled. Stay-at-home unfortunates were promised more 
grouse by Highland marauders than all the moors could fur- 
nish ; coloured shirts, of wild and wondrous patterns, hitherto 
christened " Regatta," were suddenly converted into " Shoot- 
ing;" and " G-ents' Once Bounds" retired into private life to 



112 WILD OATS. 

make room in the windows for " Balmoral Ties," as worn by 
the superior class at Perth, and other game pitches. There 
were no more fetes champ (sign) etres, no more marvellous exhi- 
bitions. Indeed, it became a question difficult to answer, where 
the wonders went to — the mannikins and Bosjesmen, the oxen, 
horses, and iceberg dogs — the living statues and waxen cele- 
brities, that collectively drew the shilling from the popular 
pocket, as the loadstone rock of the " Arabian Nights" whilom 
did the nails from the argosies that came within the sphere of 
its attraction. 

"Whitebait got larger ; in fact, it became as difficult to esta- 
blish the line where the " bait" ended and the bleak began, as 
to define at which point of the Oregon of the mind instinct 
merged into reason. There were no longer the rows of " drags," 
and " traps," and mail-phaetons, bold barouches, and sly-looking 
Broughams outside the Trafalgar. Mr. Hart breathed again, 
and Mr. Quartermaine sat down — both for the first time since 
spring came in with the radishes. Flounders enjoyed their 
own cold water soucliee in the river ; and ducks to follow, 
simply followed one another on the tranquil inland waters of 
Blackheath. 

Everything was getting dried up and dusty. Plants outside 
windows turned brown, and mignionette went very wild and 
was not replaced; for the long flower-laden barrows ceased 
to come round, the people having found out that their contents 
always died two days after purchase, in spite of every care. 
Even ladies and gentlemen appeared parched up for want of 
water, and betook themselves accordingly to aquatic districts ; 
and shutters closed, and servants were put upon board wages, 
and nobody was at home any more for several months. 

One fine afternoon, at this season of the year, Mr. Ledbury 
was sitting on a very high stool at his office, drawing Carlotta 
Grisi in " Esmeralda" on his blotting-paper, from the pattern 
of his shirt, on which she was reproduced many times in a cho- 
colate tint, together with various other Terpsichorean planets, 
and humming an appropriate air for the edification of Mr. 
Biggs, the clerk, who had never been to the Opera but once — 
and then he was not admitted, from appearing in. nankeen 
trousers, and a light pepper-and-salt tweed — when there was a 
ring at the bell. Mr. Ledbury pulled a string which opened 
a door, and who should come in but' his friend and brother-in- 
law Jack Johnson. 



ME. LEDBURY REVISITS PARIS. 113 

" Hollo, Jack !" said Mr. Ledbury, stopping short in the 
middle of the " Truandaise ;" "how d'ye do, old fellow ?" 

" How are you, Leddy ? I'm all right, always. Isn't it 
hot?" 

And in proof that he thought it was, Jack took off his hat, 
inverted it, spun it in the air, and then let it twirl, as he caught 
it on the point of his forefinger, to the great delight of Mr. 
Biggs, who always looked upon Jack as a marvellous person, 
and smiled humbly at everything he did. 

" That's a wonderful shirt you've got on, Mr. Biggs," said 
Jack ; " stunning !" 

" I'm glad you like it, sir," said Mr. Biggs. " It has been 
much admired at "Walworth." 

" It is very appropriate," said Jack. " It looks as if you 
had ruled it yourself with red ink, and then ornamented the 
lines with wafers. It is exceedingly neat, without being 
gaudy." 

Mr. Ledbury laughed. 

" Mr. Biggs," continued Jack ; " what do you drink this 
hot weather ?" 

" I think shandy-gaff is the most pleasant beverage," replied 
the clerk, mildly. 

" Shandy how much ?" inquired Jack. 

" It is ginger-beer and ale," said Mr. Ledbury. " "We will 
try some now. Mr. Biggs, bring me the cellar." 

"Whereon Mr. Biggs reached down a large tin-box, labelled 
"Title Deeds," and brought it to Mr. Ledbury, who found 
some ginger-beer in it, which he marshalled upon the desk. 

" JNTow, Mr. Biggs," said Jack, with mock politeness, " I 
thir*k we must presume upon your acknowledged affability to 
request you will procure us some ale. Take that blue bag, and 
go and get it." 

The vehicle was an odd one ; but Mr. Biggs appeared to 
understand the order, and left the office. 

"How's Emma, though?" asked Mr. Ledbury, inquiring 
after his sister, as if he felt he ought to have done so before. 

" Very well," answered Jack ; " and baby's very great. I 
think I shall make something of him. He takes a sight at the 
nurse capitally. There's a deal of fun in him, for he's always 
laughing. Only sometimes we can't make out his jokes. 
However, never mind baby just now. I've got something in 
store for you. What do you think of a rush over to Paris ?" 

i 



114 WILD OATS. 

" Tou don'fc mean that?" said Mr. Ledbury, in a doubt of 
delight. " Come now, Jack ; no nonsense." 

" On my honour, I'm in earnest, Leddy. If you like to 
come, as before, all expenses will be paid. It's about the 
Great Northern Eailway. I must be back within a week, but 
you can stay on if you like. "Will you go ?" 

" Bather, Jack," replied his friend. " The governor pro- 
mised me a holiday. I'm game !" 

" The Brighton, Dieppe, and Eouen's the mark," said Jack, 
"and we will be off to-morrow morning." 

Mr. Biggs here returned with the blue bag, from which he 
produced a bottle of Scotch ale ; and this being turned into a 
wash-hand jug, with an equal quantity of ginger-beer, Jack 
wrote, " Gone on 'Change — back in half an hour," on a slip of 
paper, and wafered it on the office door, which he closed inside. 

And then they sat and discussed the new beverage along 
with Mr. Biggs, who, in his humility, from lack of tumblers, 
could scarcely be kept from drinking out of a new inkstand. 
But this the others would not hear of, so he was supplied with 
a hyacinth-glass, in which a bulb had been all the year getting 
to the similitude of a spring onion, and there stopped ; and this 
did very well. 

" Well, Mr. Biggs," said Jack, " what do you think of the 
railways?" 

"They are the 'great arteries of mercantile and social life, 
sir, and place the knowledge gained by travel within the grasp 
of the poor man," said Mr. Biggs, humbly, quoting from some 
work for " The People," that he had read in a coffee-shop. 

" Quite right, Mr. Biggs," said Jack, " and beautifully ex- 
pressed. Here's ' May time never shut off your steam until 
you get to the extension terminus.' Come, Leddy ; you must 
drink that." 

" I beg your pardon, Jack," said Mr. Ledbury, whose ima- 
gination had already carried him to the Boulevards. " Mr. 
Biggs, may time never cut off your terminus — what is it, Jack ? 
I didn't hear." 

"Never mind," said Jack, and he continued: "Had you 
any shares in the railways, Mr. Biggs ?" 

" None, sir," said the clerk ; " I am a poor man." 

" Then you're a lucky fellow, if you knew it," said Jack. 
" The poor man never had so many friends as at present. I 
know a fellow — jolly chap he is, too — who writes tor news- 



ME. LEDBURY EEVISITS PAEIS. 115 

papers and periodicals ; knows what life is ; never goes to bed, 
and lives upon pale ale and boiled bones." 

" How very odd !" said Mr. Ledbury. " I thought there had 
been a great row lately about eating bones." 

" Ah, they were raw," said Jack. " Well, this fellow took a 
wonderful start lately ; set up a dog-cart, and lived in a house 
all to himself. So I asked him how he did it. ' Why, 5 he said, 
* it's all the poor man ; I'm sure I ought to be his friend, for 
his is the only dodge in writing that pays well, now. I don't 
know whether it does him much good, for pens and ink are not 
very nourishing ; and that's all it ends in. But it's capital for 

Mr. Ledbury rather shook his head at this, for he believed 
in philanthropy and virtuous indignation ; and Mr. Biggs was 
undecided how to look, until Jack plunged him into still deeper 
confusion by asking him to favour them with some popular 
ballad. Upon which Mr. Biggs said he would with pleasure, 
if he could, but he never knew one ; whereon Mr. Ledbury 
pleasantly reproved him, and revealed how Mr. Biggs had told 
an untruth ; and how he had one day heard him, from the back 
office, singing the foreign air of " Old Dan Tucker," and dancing 
a strange measure, as he tried to imitate the bones accompani- 
ment with the paper-knife and some sticks of sealing-wax, until 
he broke the latter in his enthusiasm. Hereat Mr. Biggs 
blushed fuchsia, and said, "Oh, Mr. Titus — really!" and then 
Mr. Ledbury told him to put words to the " Post-horn Hymn," 
which a Genoese organist, of slow temperament, was grinding 
below the window, in a dilatory manner, that would have driven 
Arban mad had he heard it. But, finding that Mr. Biggs 
was too nervous to sing himself, they went on talking, until 
Mr. Ledbury, under the influence of ale, treated Mr. Biggs to 
a French song — which, as far as Mr. Biggs was concerned, 
might have been double Sanscrit, or provincial Chinese, both 
which dialects are somewhat difficult to acquire fluently. But 
Mr. Biggs thought it so good, that Mr. Ledbury's desire to 
amuse increased ; and he next showed the placid clerk how the 
students danced at the Chaumiere, and at what part they were 
turned out by the Garde Mtmicipale, concluding by performing 
a galop with the invoice-book, until Jack joined him, and the 
divertissement concluded with apas de deux of such originality, 
that Mr. Biggs clapped his hands quite deliriously, and declared 
he had never seen anything half so good — no, not at the Bower, 

i2 



116 WILD OATS. 

nor any other fashionable place of entertainment. And as old 
Mr. Ledbury was out of town for the day, their rapid act of 
merriment was only brought to a close by Titus dancing over 
his spectacles, and the Exchange clock striking five with an 
intensity that nearly knocked over the grasshopper from his 
ticklish pinnacle. 

It did not take Mr. Ledbury long to make up his mind to 
go with Jack, and pack up his wardrobe. He longed to let his 
mustachios grow ; but all the efforts he had made for years to 
get them to shoot had been failures ; and the same with regard 
to his whiskers. None of the wonderful things which the young 
men who cut his hair always recommended, answered ; his con- 
sumption of Circassian Cream must have affected in no small 
degree the trade of the Black Sea and the regions of the 
Caucasus ; but still his face was smooth. And once, when he 
had been rash enough to buy a pair of false mustachios, that 
were fixed with a spring to his nostrils, he brought on such a 
wonderful fit of sneezing, that he had well-nigh blown all his 
brains out by the same route as those of the Egyptian mummies 
are reported, by cunning men who delight in unrolling those 
bales of pitchy mortality, to have left their tenement. So that 
he gave up the notion, fondly as he clung to it, and determined 
upon trusting, as heretofore, to his elegant manners and 
knowledge of foreign style generally, to be considered a true 
Parisian. 

Little occurred worthy of especial notice on the road to Paris. 
Eor steam-boat journeys across the Channel were then all alike ; 
and when you knew one conducteur of a diligence, you were upon 
terms of perfect intimacy with all, all over Erance ; nor was there 
any great diversity in the fashion of diligences. The boiled 
mutton and Erench-beans skated about the chief-cabin table as 
usual, when the able-bodied assembled to dine, half way be- 
tween the Chain Pier and Dieppe quais ; the same lady of a 
certain age lay helpless on deck, with her head on a carpet- 
bag, and her feet in an old cloak ; and now and then requested 
to be thrown overboard without further delay, and put out of 
her misery at once, as formerly. There were, apparently, the 
very same soldiers and douaniers on the pier that Titus knew 
at Boulogne ; and the same incomprehensible soup, made of 
cheese, lamp-oil, and hot water, shaken up together, awaited 
them; with the identical white crockery, blunt knives, and 
wooden cruet-frames in the mile a manger of the ubiquitous 



MK. LEDBUEY EEYISITS PAKIS. 117 

Hotel u d'Angleterre," or "de Londres," or "de l'Europe," or 
whatever it was ; but it was sure to be one of these. 

Nor did Mr. Ledbury think otherwise than that he had slept 
on the same walnut-tree bedstead, and washed in the same 
white pie- dish, and used the same scanty towels, that look as if 
they were the sheets cut into little pieces, a hundred times 
re. And as for the diligence, next morning, somehow or 
other it must have been the very one that first took him from 
Boulogne to Paris. There were beggars too, with all of whom 
he vras upon terms of the greatest familiarity ; and the same 
horses whinnied, and fought, and rattled the bits of jack-chain 
and remnants of box-cord that formed the harness, and were 
sworn at with precisely the same oaths by the postilion. 

At Eouen, however, there was a little change, for now there 
was a railway. But they did not leave the diligence for all 
that : for the body of the carriage was taken off its wheels, and 
hoisted up into the air, passengers, luggage, and all, by the 
ornithological and crustaceous union of a crane and a crab, as 
if it had been merely a sack of wool, and then lowered down 
upon the truck. 

There was much to amuse at this part of the journey, more 
especially as regarded a very fussy lady, who complained that 
riding sideways in the interieur made her sick, and so with 
much labour, for she was heavily fashioned, was hoisted, pushed, 
and guided into the banquette. "When she got there, she hoped 
" she was not disturbing the gents," and then, not being in any 
way proud, entered into conversation, and said she was going 
to join Lord Somebody's family at Paris, and that her name 
was Mrs. Mills, and that she had been sent for from England 
to superintend the establishment — in other words, as Jack soon 
found out — to be a housekeeper. She had evidently enjoyed 
her dinner, and talked considerably in consequence. 

" Ah !" she said, as soon as they had packed her safely away, 
u this is better. But nothing should have made me come, if I'd 
know'd it." 

" Haven't you had a pleasant journey, ma'am ?" asked Jack. 

K Pleasant indeed, sir ! "Who could expect it, in foreign parts. 
I'm sure I thought I should have died all the way from 
Brighton, and a little more would have done it. I never hope 
to see that Chain Pier again. And it's nothing when you do, 
no more than what Huugerford-bridge would be with Lambeth 
took clean away." 



118 WILD OATS. 

""We must cultivate her, Leddy," whispered Jack, deter- 
mining to draw her out ; and thus he proceeded : 

" You didn't have a pleasant passage then, ma'am ?" 

" No, sir," said the lady, sharply, as though enraged with 
Jack for asking. " I was insulted at first starting, by being 
asked at Brighton if I had a passport. 'No,' said I, 'and 
I hope I never shall have, for my marriage certificate is 
framed and glazed, and I am not afraid to show it to anybody, 
although now I am a lone woman !' But the chambermaid — a 
impedent hussy she was too — made me go to a Mr. Black, 
where I paid ten shillings for a bit of paper, which has bothered 
me the whole way. Passport, indeed ! paugh ! -what will they 
want next, I should like to know ?" 

" Very true, ma'am," observed Jack ; " as you properly say, 
what will they want next ?" 

" They'd have my bandbox when I landed, if they could, for 
good," said Mrs. Mills ; "for a tall fellow stopped me as I was 
going ashore. 'And what do you want?' says I. l Arret ay J 
says he, which I knew by his look meant something bad ; and 
there they rummidged it dreadful, and afterwards I was boxed 
up in the back of this machine, in a stivy part, just like a slice 
of omnibus, with foreign gentlemen, who were dressed respect- 
able, but knew no more of English than an unborn babe. At 
last I heard my native tongue outside, and I said to the speaker, 
' Sir, as you are a Christian, and not a Frenchman, pray ask 
leave for me to go in front ;' and here I am." 

The last affirmation was not to be denied, any more than the 
popular information of " Now we're off!" which everybody feels 
called upon to say when a train moves, without fear of contra- 
diction. "Whereupon Jack went on : 

"My friend here," pointing to Mr. Ledbury, "makes pre- 
cisely the same complaint. A clever young man," whispered 
Jack to the lady ; "his name is Hopley, a cousin of the Maid 
of Orleans you have heard of." 

" I have heard speak of her, but can't say I knew her, sir," 
said Mrs. Mills. " I saw her statue this morning." 

" He came to Eouen to see it also," said Jack. " She was 
burnt, you know, in the market, after the battle of "Waterloo ; 
a blot upon the Duke of "Wellington's name, great as it is — a 
sad mistake." And Jack shook his head. 

" "What did you think of the figure, ma'am ?" asked Titus, 
who had heard all this. 



MR. LEDBURY REVISITS PARIS. 119 

"A fine girl, sir; but not so handsome as her effigies at 
Madame Tussaud's, neither." 

" You must expect a Maid of Orleans to be plummy," ob- 
served Jack, gravely. 

Mrs. Mills did not take the pun, but Titus went into a tem- 
porary fit of St. Yitus's dance. 

" My friend is trying to see what connexion there is between 
Noah's Ark and Joan of Arc," continued Jack. "What is 
your opinion of her, Mr. Hopley ?" 

" She was a strange young woman," said Ledbury, "when 
she was in service, and dangerous to have a Sunday out, as 
Susan used to say, although she was always very correct and 
proper. Gro on, Jack," he whispered ; " I can't tell such crams; 
I'm sure to laugh." 

" Her head ran too much on soldiers," continued Jack. 
" She thought more of guns and helmets than brooms and 
afternoon caps. You can imagine, ma'am, how it astonished a 
respectable and piously- cheerful family, to find their housemaid 
learning the sword exercise in the kitchen. And yet she was 
the acknowledged heroine of domestic drama." 

" I thought such things were never done but at Ashley's," 
said Mrs. Mills. " I knew a lady there — a real lady she was 
too, and very good-looking — who played warrior queens, 
but she was peaceable enough at home, and never wanted to 
fight six ruffians, or clamber up a blazing fortress on horse- 
back." 

At this moment Mr. Ledbury, who had been looking another 
way and pretending to blow his nose, and putting on an ex- 
pression of apoplectic jocular suffering, burst into a fit of 
laughter; Jack also tittered from sympathy; and Mrs. Mills, 
who for some little time had mistrusted her companions, mut- 
tered something about " behaving as gentlemen," and made 
allusions to " shop-boys out for the day" (which, considering 
where they had got to, must have been a pretty long one), 
and then relapsed into dignified and contemptuous silence, 
which lasted until they arrived at the Paris debar cadere. In a few 
minutes the diligence was again hoisted on to its carriage, to 
which the horses were already attached, and they once more 
clattered down the Rue de Grrenelle St. Honore, into the 
court-yard of the Messageries. Here they got a citadine, and 
proceeded over the river to the Hotel de l'Etoile — a cheap 
students' house on the Quai St. Michel, and on the river 



120 WILD OATS. 

boundary of the Quartier Latin, where they intended to stay 
merely until they hunted up some of their old friends. 

jack was certainly a very jolly married man — one of the 
best you could encounter in a long day's search — and although 
he made Ledbury's sisrer a capital husband, was not i 
'•"slow." and therefore he told Titus he was game for anything 
that evening : and as it was Thursday, and he thought they 
might meet some acquaintances of former days, they settled at 
once to dress themselves, and go up to the Chaumiere, deter- 
mined to make the most of their united stay in Paris. So they 
made their toilet, and Atr. Ledbury insisted upon having his 
hair curled en papillate?, by the coiffeur in the Ci Eue de l'Ecole 
de ALedecine," and bought a pair of bright yellow nineteen-sous 
gloves to make an effect, and then went off, with the greatest 
reliance upon his personal appearance, towards the Boulevard 
du Alont-Parnasse. 

It was very capital — the walk thither. Xothing seemed 
much altered. The nursemaids were flirting with the soldiers 
in the gardens of the Luxembourg, and the old men were still 
playing bowls by the ground where Xey was executed ; and 
when Air. Ledbury saw two grisettes in airy barege dresses 
and coquettish little muffin-shaped caps, not made as they used 
to wear them, but formed something like a low-crowned hat- 
made of lace, with no rim, but large lappets, he was for rushing 
towards them at once, and engaging them . for innumerable 
dances: only Jack restrained him, "for," said he, "we shall 
be sure presently to meet some old friends, so do not be 
too excited, Leddy." And this recommendation just came in 
time, for no sooner did Mr. Ledbury hear the distant band 
:~ri the wall, than he performed a pas seul upon the boulevards 
from very joyousness of heart, no less than to distinguish him- 
self in the eyes of the grisettes just named, and to show them 
that he was quite at home in Paris — rather ! And this was not 
concluded until he had danced against a gendarme and a mar- 
ckand de coco, whose tin temple of beverage he almost knocked 
over. 

j went into the gardens, and, as Jack had said, soon met 
some old friends. Jules was there, and Henri — the two young 
artiste, and they pointed out Eulalie, and Clara, and Sophie, 
and Heloise, and all sorts of pretty little faces, that looked 
years younger, if anything; and when they recognised 
Ledbury and Jack, there was such a shout, and such shaking 



MB. LEDBUBY BEYISITS PAEI5. 121 

of hands, and, as regarded the young grisettes, such going 
through other ceremonies of recognition, which popular maxims 
. La not right to tell of, as was delightful to behold. It 
lucky for Jack that Aimee was not there — very lucky — for 
was married, and you know it would have been so 
awkward, the meeting ! And then they all got round a table 
and ordered expensive things — punch and champagne even — 
and talked and laughed, and kicked up such a famous row, that 
the authorities had well-nigh interfered ; and Clara, who wa3 
a fair-haired, blue-eyed, rosy -mouthed little Belgian, thought- 
Mr. Ledbury so funny, and Mr. Ledbury was so nattered 
thereby, that he quite lost his head, and proposed the health of 
:m generally, and volunteered to sing " She wore a wreath 
of roses/' in which he was always very great, and which he 
now began, but wa3 prevented from finishing by Jack voting 
for a polka. And here it was that Mr. Ledbury did indeed 
shine. His dancing was the admiration of the whole party, 
and his elegant attitudes, no less than his good-tempered face, 
attracted all eyes. And when he had finished, and led his 
panting, breathless partner from the enclosure, they gave him 
a round of applause ; whereon, with much grace, he drank to 
them in a small tumbler of champagne, and by this time he 
was ready for anything. 

The Jen de Bague — a game like the roundabouts at our fairs 
— w as in full swing, and Titus proposed that they should have 
4 game between the dances. 

" I will show these Frenchmen what a Briton can do, Jack, 
when he pleases." he said. 

•• Keep all right, Leddy," said Jack, "or, perhaps, they will 
show you what they can do in return. Eemember former 
scrapes.'' 

•• It's all right. Jack," said Titus ; "now see them look at 
me." 

:e were two horses and two chairs on the roundabout; 
and the game consisted in the players being furnished with 
little spears like knife- sharpeners, and trying to take off small 
riugs from a hook on which they were hung — a modification of 
the old tilting at the ring. Mr. Ledbury got on one of the 
3 which he sat gallantly, to show the Parisians he was a 
sportsman ; and Clara occupied one of the chairs : the two 
other places were taken by Jack and one of the grisettes, and 
off thev went. 



122 WILD OATS. 

Eor the first few rounds Mr. Ledbury simply smiled at the 
company, politely bowing to them every time he came near 
them, like the little man at the evening party on the top of the 
organ ; and then he kissed his hand, and waved his pocket- 
handkerchief, and, finally, with a flourish of his spear, began to 
play, imitating martial music on a cornet. By some good luck 
or other he carried off a ring or . two, at which the students 
and grisettes who were looking on cheered. This was quite 
enough to drive him into any act of wildness, and, after a few 
more turns, which did not improve his steadiness, coming on 
the champagne, he formed a project of unequalled boldness. 
One of the garde was standing near the game, looking with 
folded arms and frowning brow upon the players. As Titus 
came near him he seized his helmet, and lifted it forcibly from 
his head, directly afterwards putting it upon his own, to the in- 
tense astonishment of the soldier. 

. Any insult offered to the authorities is sure to be hailed with 
acclamation by the frequenters of the Chaumiere, and a roar of 
deligbt burst forth. At this Mr. Ledbury was so excited, that 
by some marvellous exertion he contrived to stand up in his 
stirrups, and would have got upon the horse itself, to have 
thrown himself into a tableau, had hot the enraged functionary 
stopped the machine and pulled the offender from his charger. 
The crowd pressed round, and tried to hustle him away by 
pushing the grisettes all in a heap against the guard, knowing 
that he would not attack them. Jack had sprung from his 
perch like lightning, and, seeing their object, caught Ledbury 
by the collar, and dragged him actually through a party of 
gendarmes who were coming to the scene of the row. Then 
lugging him into one of the bosquets, where the obscurity pro- 
tected them, he said : 

" Keep still, Leddy. How could you be such an ass !" 
11 I'll show them what an Englishman dares to do, Jack," said 
Titus, quite bewildered ; and he began to sing — 

" For England, home, and beauty." 

" England, home, and fiddlesticks," said Jack. " Hold your 
tongue, do, or they'll have you now. Sit down." 

And, knowing that when Mr. Ledbury got into these heroics 
he was heedless of everything, Jack seized him by the throat 
and fairly choked him down behind one of the benches, in spite 
of all his declarations that he would go and see fair play, and 
not allow friends he respected to be ill-treated on his account. 



ME. LEDBURY REVISITS PARIS. 123 

And here, for a few minutes, Mr. Ledbur y remained, in great 
excitement and indignation. 

It was very fortunate for Mr. Ledbury tbat Jack had some 
command over him, for his ambition at all times to distinguish 
himself was so great, more especially in the presence of the fair 
sex, that there is no telling to what lengths he migjit have been 
led in the way of display had it not been for his friend's firm 
clutch. His susceptibility was not an interested feeling. So 
long as he knew that two bright eyes, set in a pretty face, were 
watching him — whether they belonged to a duchess or a grisette 
was perfectly immaterial — they were quite sufficient to inspire 
him to brave the Garde Municipale, or storm the Tuileries, or 
do any other madcap freak that he fancied might have be'en re- 
quired of him. 

Of course the authorities were put upon the wrong scent ; 
and whilst they marched off to some part of the gardens to- 
wards which they were told the perfidious Englishmen had 
retreated, Jack pulled Ledbury from his hiding-place and pre- 
pared to quit the Chaumiere. As he left the arbour, Titus said 
something about the British lion being at bay in his lair, and 
appeared desirous of realising the six positions of the Fighting 
Gladiator ; upon which Jack got the two young artists to ac- 
company them, and these three, performing a wild dance as they 
went through the gate, in the mazes of which they hustled 
round Mr. Ledbury whenever he attempted to speak, prevented 
him from addressing the gatekeeper, who thought it was merely 
a convivial party returning home. Thus they contrived to get 
him out safely upon the boulevard, along which they proceeded 
a little way, and then all sat down to rest on the edge of one 
of the hollows which are dug between the trees, for no other 
apparent purpose than to form traps for strangers to tumble 
into. 

When they were seated, Mr. Ledbury, who had been per- 
forming a forced march, looked round at his companion with a 
severe aspect, and then he stared up at the moon, which was 
shining brightly. The sight of the calm planet appeared to 
soften his feelings, for his face gradually lost its severity, and he 
next said, in a plaintive tone, as he waved his head backwards 
and forwards : 

" I am far from home and from everything I love on earth, 
without friends, and a stranger in a foreign land !" 

" Hear, hear !" cried Jack, convivially. " ' Off, off! said the 
stranger !' " 



124 WILD OATS. 

" Jack," said Mr. Ledbury, in reproving accents, " I did not 
expect this from you, whom I always thought my friend. But 
no matter — I am used to it. "Would I were at home — at my 
own humble home, on which that same moon is now shining ! 
How have I misspent my time and deceived my kind parents !" 

Here Mr. Ledbury wept ; he was evidently labouring under 
some impression that he had committed a series of unpardon- 
able crimes, and was altogether an outcast from decent society. 

" Why, Leddy — old brick ! — what's the matter r" asked Jack, 
placing a hand on his shoulder. 

" Nothing — nothing, Jack," replied Titus, putting away his 
friend. " It is long since I have thus wept ; not since I was a 
child— a guileless, sportive thing of four years old — a little, 
little, little child !" 

" Ah !" said Jack, drawing him out, " and you remember, you 
remember how happy you were when your childhood flitted by, 
and your little lovers came with lilies and cherries, and all sorts 
of larks." 

" They will never come again," replied Mr. Ledbury. " And 
where is the little Belgian who polked so well ? Has she left 
me too ?" 

" Oh," thought Jack, " we shall do now." 

So recollecting that in their rapid act of horsemanship they 
had forgotten the grisettes in a very ungallant manner, he got 
Jules and Henri to go back after them. And as soon as they 
were gone, Mr. Ledbury's excitement arrived at the affectionate 
stage, and he shook Jack warmly by the hand, and said he was 
a good fellow, and that they were all good fellows, and knew 
he'd never behaved well to Jack, nor showed him such attention 
as he ought to have done ; but that was neither here nor there, 
nor, as Jack observed, anywhere else that he knew of. 

However, they got wonderful friends again, and by this time 
the young artists came back with Clara, and Eulalie,andHeloise ; 
and, making over the former to the protection of Mr. Ledbury, 
they started, seven abreast, along the boulevard on their way 
home, indulging, as a matter of course, in the right and proper 
chorus to be sung at such times, which nobody was ever 
known to go home along the boulevards from the Chaumiere 
without joining in. This is it : 



ME. LEDBURY EEVISITS PAEIS. 



125 



THE STUDENTS' CHAUMIEEE SONG. 
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Tou -jours! Now all its joys al- 



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ioup ! ioup ! ioup ! tra 



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Messieurs les Etudians 

All at the Chaumiere now, 
To dance the wild cancan 

Beneath the band repair now, 
Toujour s! toujours! toujour s! 
Bacchus et " les amours!" 

(Chorus.) Eh! ioup! ioup! ioup! &c. 



126 WILD OATS. 

in. 
The Garde Municipale 

Has only to show fight, boys, «. 

"We stop our wild cabal, 

And then we take a sight, boys, 
Toujours! toujour si toujour si 
The which we can't endure. 

(Chorus?) Eh! ioup! ioup! ioup! &c. 

IV. 

At once we follow up 

Our studies, love, and folly ; 
"We read, we drink, we sup, 

And still are always jolly, 
Toujours! toujoursl toujours I 
"Whilst night and day endure. 

(Chorus.) Eh! ioup! ioup! ioup! &c. 

v. 

Our passions soon are o'er : 

"We sigh for Heloise, 
Now Clara we adore, 

And now we kiss Louise, 
Toujours! toujours! toujours! 
And all the rest abjure. 

(Chorus.) Eh ! ioup ! ioup ! ioup ! &c. 

VI. 

Here's Julie's sparkling eyes, 

Whose every glance expresses, 
" Faint heart ne'er won the prize — 

I wait for your addresses." 
Toujoursl toujours! toujours! 
The treasure, then, secure. 

(Chorus.) Eh! ioup! ioup! ioup! &c. 

VII. 

Despite the sermons slow, 

Of tutor or of father, 
The students always show 

They love the Chaumiere — rather. 
Toijours! toujours! toujours! 
With wine and " les amours!* 

(Chorus.) Eh ! ioup ! ioup ! ioup ! &c. 

There are no places in the Quartier Latin of Paris to " finish" 
an evening at. English innovation has kept some of the cafes 
open very late on the northern boulevards; but by eleven 
o'clock at night this classical region is deserted. And as the 
young ladies — the daughters of the proprietor — who conjointly 
kept the lodge of the Hotel de l'Etoile du Nord were models of 
ropriety, and did not approve of the visits of any other young 
dies to their domicile at any hour, but always received them 



MR. LEDBURY REVISITS PARIS. I 127 

with an aspect of fearful severity, which the boldest did not like 
to encounter a second time, Jack and Mr. Ledbury took an 
affectionate good night of their friends at the door, aud espe- 
cially of the little Belgian, to whom Titus, in his enthusiasm, 
had been talking Tennyson for the last quarter of an hour in- 
stead of singing, and trying to put the good poetry into bad 
French as he proceeded, to the utter bewilderment of his com- 
panion, for even Mr. Ledbury's French was not of the purest. 
" Ecoutez," said Mr. Ledbury : " La reine du Mai est la plus 
jolie de tout ; elle est la reine du fete, vous savez, comme 9a. 
Je la chanterai." And, stopping his ears to the chorus, he 
went on : 

"LA REINE DU MAI. 

Si vous etes veillante, appelle-moi, ma mere, appelle-moi de bonne heure j 

Demain sera de toute l'annee le plus fortune jour; 

De toute l'annee nouvelle, ma mere, la journee le plus gai, 

Car je serai l'Reine du Mai, ma mere ! je serai l'Reine du Mai ! 

West ce pas que c'est touchante ?" 

" Charmante !" said the little Belgian, in a perfect haze as to 
its meaning : " bien gentille !" 

" I shan't be waking to call you early, Leddy, if you don't 
come in," observed Jack, just as Mr. Ledbury was beginning 
another verse. 

It was a peculiarity of Mr. Ledbury's nature, that, when he 
was just at all excited, he always began to talk Tennyson. If 
young ladies jilted him after supper at parties, he always abused 
his " cousin Amy" in right good Locksley Hall style, as a relief 
to his feelings. If he felt slow, he quoted " Mariana ;" and 
when he wanted to create a favourable impression, he whis- 
pered the Ear-ring and Necklace song from " The Miller's 
Daughter" to his partner in the rest of a polka. But Jack, 
who had heard all these pieces over and over again, did not al- 
ways enter into his enthusiasm as warmly as he wished, and 
now even rudely cut him short. So the good night was re- 
peated — one would fancy it must have been a very agreeable 
proceeding by the evident general desire to encore it ; and then 
the grisettes were escorted by the artists along the Quai St. 
Michel. They struck up the chorus again as they left, whilst 
Mr. Ledbury waved his hand with the air of a cMtelain of the 
olden time when a procession left his castle ; and the strain 
awakened the echoes of the old buildings from the Morgue— 
which was exactly opposite to them — to JSotre-Dame, until, as 
they turned up the Rue de la Harpe, it stopped suddenly, at 



128 WILD OATS. 

the request of a body of the Garde Municipale, who just then 
came round the corner. And then, as Mr. Ledbury had seen 
enough of those functionaries for that evening, he retreated in- 
doors, and, taking his candle from the eldest Mademoiselle 
Petit, followed Jack up to bed. But his cerebral excitement 
had not yet gone off, and his visions were disturbed. He 
dreamt that he was a cuirassier, fighting for Belgium and beauty, 
and then dancing strange Chaumiere figures over a body of 
prostrate gendarmes, being joined by all the lamps and musical 
instruments in the garden, which appeared to be always rapidly 
descending before his eyes, without getting any lower. And 
indeed the morning sun came through the quivering leaves of 
the scarlet-runners that bordered his window, before he sank 
into a quiet slumber. 

Jack's first care was to get the business transacted that 
he had come about, and this took up a couple of days, 
which Mr. Ledbury passed chiefly with Jules and Henri in 
their atelier during the morning, getting rid of the evening by 
treating the little Belgian to unlimited ices at the Cafe de la 
Rotonde, and then going to see Dejazet. And he found tins 
life so very pleasant, that, with a little persuasion, he left the 
Hotel de l'Etoile, and took what Jack very rudely denominated 
a first-class cockloft over the studio of his friends. It contained 
a bed and a chair, and was so limited in its proportions, that 
the occupier was obliged to sit on the floor to dress, and could 
not open the door without getting on the bed. But neverthe- 
less, Mr. Ledbury was exceedingly joyous in it; and would 
have been more so but for the " lean-to" ceiling, against which 
he regularly bumped his head every morning. 

" I don't think I like this pigeon-house much, Leddy," said 
Jack, as Titus, in the fulness of his heart, wished his friend to 
partake of it. 

" Oh, it's capital, Jack — ten francs a month — think of that ! 
Such a pure air, too, and such a view !" 

" A view — ah ! yes, I see," replied Jack, looking towards the 
panes of glass in the roof, through which alone light was ad- 
mitted ; " capital, if you like astronomy. You can lie in bed 
and learn the Great Bear famously." 

" No, no ; look here, Jack," said Mr. Ledbury, anxious to ex- 
hibit all the advantages of his new domicile. " You must get 
on the bed, and then open the skylight, and heave yourself up 
through it—so. There, now, I can see the telegraphs on St. 
Sulpice working away like several one o' clocks. I wonder 



MR. LEDBURY REVISITS PARIS. 129 

what tliev mean ? they're very like an E just now : can you 
tell?" 

" That's a comprehensive clue, certainly," said Jack. " Bat 
it's sure to be ' news from Bayonne,' about a row in Spain. 
The Erench telegraphs never do anything else." 

" I can see all the roofs and chimney-pots along the Bue 
[Racine," said Mr. Ledbury. " And — I say, Jack — look here : 
this is the great point. No ; you must get up, and put your 
head through. There; do you see that window w T here the 
canary-bird is ?" 

" Quite well, Leddy. What is it ?" 

" That's where the little Belgian lives. She's an illumineuse 
— paints maps and things. Isn't it jolly ?" 

" Very," said Jack, wedging himself a little tighter into the 
skylight, until there appeared a chance of their getting fixed 
there irremediably. " I don't much see what use it is, though." 

" Oh, telegraph, telegraph, Jack ; beats St. Sulpice all to no- 
thing. Look here, now." 

"Whereupon Mr. Ledbury contrived, by dint of sheer animal 
force, to release himself from the skylight : and then taking up 
a 1 walking-stick, he put a glove on it, and removing the bit of 
looking-glass which formed his mirror from the wall, reas- 
cended. 

" Now, first, we must call her attention," said Titus ; " and 
I do that, when the sun is out, by making a Jack-o'-lantern on 
the canary-bird. There — see how it frightens him, and what a 
row he makes. That will bring her to the window." 

Mr. Ledbury was right. In half a minute Clara's pretty 
face peeped between the convolvulus leaves which ran upon bits 
of tape all over the windows, and nodded to him. 

" Now for the burgee," said Mr. Ledbury, who had learned 
the name when somebody took him one day in a yacht to Erith, 
but had not the wildest notion of its meaning. " Here goes." 
And he hoisted up the glove on the walking-stick. " There— 
that means ' Can you come to the Chaumiere to-night ?' " 

The little grisette shook her head, and held up a map half- 
coloured; and then retiring for an instant, she brought for- 
ward a champagne-bottle, which evidently served for a candle- 
stick — -for there was a Little piece still in it — and putting it on 
the coping before her, held up all her fingers and laughed. 

" Now I know what she means," said Mr. Ledbury. " She 
can't come to the Chaumiere, because she has work to do ; but 

K 



130 WILD O^TS. 

she will sup with us at ten o'clock. She's a good one, isn't 
she, Jack ?" 

" I'm sure, if you say so, she is," replied his friend, getting 
down ; and then Mr. Ledbury, after a rapid series of nods to the 
beloved object, which made him look like a galvanised man- 
darin, followed him. 

" You won't come and live here, then, Jack, while you stay 
in Paris ?" asked Titus, as they reached the floor. 

" No, I think not. There isn't room to swing a kitten, 
Leddy, to say nothing of a cat." 

" Well, but we didn't come to Paris for that, you know," 
said Mr. Ledbury. " Besides, I haven't seen such a thing as a 
cat since I have been bere. I can't tell how it is. "With such 
capital tiles as these are, they would have swarmed like flies in 
London." 

" It's all owing to the restaurateurs" said Jack. " Where- 
ever you see ' lapm* on tbeir bill of fare, you may be sure there 
are no cats at large in the neighbourhood. They are not even 
in Leicester-square as they used to be, since all the cheap 
Trench houses started up. Pact : depend upon it." 

Before long they joined Jules and Henri on the floor below, 
and went together to dine at Yiot's, the eating-house which the 
students of the Quartier Latin chiefly love to patronise. It is 
a thing that should not be missed, a dinner " chez Yiot." The 
carte is extensive, and not at all expensive : you may get off 
famously for a franc, including a sou for the waiter. Tou don't 
often see much wine there ; but there is an unlimited supply of 
water, somewhat tepid, and in hazy decanters ; but it quenches 
the thirst of the students just as well as if it had been kept in 
crystal filters and Wenham ice all the day. They have some 
remarkable beverage, too, which they call "biere blanche;" 
translated, it might be termed " intermediate," from forming a 
gradation between penny ginger-beer and the traditional result 
of rincing out porter- tubs and washing brewers' aprons, which 
low minds denominate " swipes." Their meats are six sous the 
plate ; their vegetables and dessert, three ; bread is a discretion ; 
and the labours of M. Viot — who looks like the knave of clubs 
setting up for himself in the licensed victualler line — in cutting 
up the long rolls are beyond description. The waiters, too, are 
all pictures. They outdo all the jugglers you ever saw, in ba- 
lancing pyramids of dishes on their arms ; and their single- 
breath orders of " Une Julienne — deux croupous — un bceuf aux 



ME. LEDBTIEY EEVISITS PAEIS. 131 

choux — trois haricots verts a l'huile — un pommes sautees (avec 
beaucoup de jus) — deux bifteks un peu saignants — un oeufs sur 
le plat — deux fraises — deux fromages a la creme — un riz au 
lait-t-t-t !" are sounds which will readily be recollected by the 
old habitues of the house. 

There is a great excitement, too, at a dinner at Viot's which 
assists digestion, for man is gregarious ; and, besides, the in- 
comprehensible cotelette of the tavern is far beyond the sod- 
dened lonely chop of lodgings, albeit you know not of what 
animal fibre it is composed. And the noise is quite charming. 
"What with the unceasing orders, as above given ; the shutting 
of the glass-door into the street, which makes all the windows 
go off every minute with a bang, owing to their thin glass and 
scanty metal frames, like the clash of a brass band ; the cata- 
racts of dirty plates shot down the inclined plane into the 
kitchen ; the shouts of impatient guests ; the clatter of table 
implements, and the deep responsive "Ho!" of the barytone 
cook, who rivals the " Grarc,on Lablache" of the Palais Eoyal 
Cafe in his low notes, — what with all this, the meal is delightful, 
at least when you get used to it. On your first visit the row 
takes all your appetite away, so intense is your terror. Eut 
Mr. Ledbury and Jack were not so easily frightened. This is 
what they each had. 



Pue de la Harpe. 

sous 
1 Potage {Puree aux Croutons) . . . .6 

This is, as tea-merchants say of three-and-sixpenny congou, 
" a fine old-fashioned" soup. Its component parts are 
unknown ; but it is supposed to be made of dice of 
bread Med in dripping, and then simmered in whatever 
comes handy, from cabbage-water to kitchen-stuff, fla- 
voured with diluted peas-pudding. It is very nourish- 
ing. 
1 Biftek aux Powmes . . . . .6 

A popular dish. The " biftek" should more properly be 
termed a rasher, as it is here cooked. It looks like a 
large broiled mushroom. It is called beef, as cheese 
is sometimes termed a rabbit, or certain preparations 
of veal, " olives." Physiologists are divided in their 
k2 



132 WILD OATS. 

sous 
opinions respecting it ; but the majority agree that it 
is an artful combination of horse and india-rubber. 
1 Haricots verts a VAnglaise . . . .3 

An interesting example of the supposed advantage of 
making things foreign, "haricots a l'Anglaise" being 
precisely what we call " French beans." They are eaten 
with a curious lump of adipose substance, very similar 
to that used to put into the boxes of railway wheels, 
which is dabbed on the top, and allowed to melt there. 
1 Fraises dw Bois . . . . . .3 

A little plate of wild strawberries, really very good when 
eaten without another mysterious adjunct served with 
them, which looks like a saucer full of whitewash. 
The Oargon . . . . . .1 

This is dropped into a vase on the counter, on which the 
lady in attendance, who displays the slightest suspicion 
in the world of rouge, gracefully inclines her head, in 
return to the bow from the guest. 

Total . . .19 

Leaving change out of the franc. The " leg of beef soup, 
with, bread and potatoes, for threepence," in St. Giles's, is the 
only dinner that beats this for cheapness. Berthollini cannot 
be mentioned in the same breath. 

The dinner being over, the party repaired to one of the cafes 
in the Rue de l'Ecole de Medecine, and here the remainder of 
the afternoon was spent in billiards. Mr. Ledbury did not 
particularly shine in the game. He played with wrong balls, 
and never knew which was the spot ; and sent it flying, when 
he did, over the cushions, and out of the window, and down 
stairs, and into all kinds of irregular places ; and, although he 
was always chalking his cue, this did not improve his play, 
until at last, having cut the cloth into a right-angled laceration, 
he gave it up, and, ordering his "demi-tasse" and accompani- 
ment, looked on. 

Jack continued to play, as well as the artist, and at last they 
got up a large game at pool, which Henri was fortunate enough 
to win. And, as the evening was advancing, Mr. Ledbury 
thought it was time to call for Clara, which proposition was 
readily agreed to. Jules and Henri also — by such a lucky 



MR. LEDBURY REVISITS PARIS. 133 

chance — met Eulalie, and Sophie, and Heloise, so that each had 
now a companion. Jack offered his arm to the latter — a dark- 
eyed, very-wicked-indeed-looking Lyonnaise. He could not do 
otherwise, of course, if only from mere politeness. Perhaps it was 
as well Emma did not see him : not that there was the slightest 
harm in it, but ladies' imaginations, in matters of jealousy, 
are like microscopes, and make the most wonderful images out 
of the smallest objects, magnifying tiny innocent creatures into 
monsters so terrible that the normal state of the earth cannot 
show their parallel. As it was, they were all very joyous, and 
Henri promised to spend all his winnings in festivity that 
evening; upon which they proceeded together to the Cafe 
Anglais, to the great delight of the grisettes, who had never 
aspired beyond the Palais Eoyal. 

Be sure that the supper was noisy enough. A reunion of 
this kind can never be very dull on the Boulevards ; for, putting 
on one side the lights, and lustres, and looking-glasses, the 
busy, cheerful noise of life and relaxation, and the constant 
motion of the guests, as attributes at all cafes, increased in 
estaminets by the click of billiard-balls and the rollicking of 
dominoes, there is a most joy-inspiring air about the houses on 
the Boulevards. The hundreds of twinkling lamps on the stalls 
round the theatres and at the side of the hack carriages — the 
perambulating marchands, each also with his little basket illu- 
minated — the twanging of guitars and harps, or the jingling 
hum of tambourines, and the countless, indescribable vocal and 
instrumental sounds in all directions — the leaping forth of eman- 
cipated corks, when a bottle of limonade gazeuse creates as 
great an effect as one of champagne, — all contribute to an en- 
semhle which defies anything like melancholy. 

Mr. Ledbury was never so rich. The jokes he made were 
perfectly marvellous ; and so the rest would have thought, if 
they could have understood but one word of them ; but puns 
are difficult to translate into French, and especially Mr. Led- 
bury's ; but when they did not laugh at what he said, they 
laughed at him himself, which made him just as happy. And 
when he showed them how to draw up cherries into his mouth 
by the stalk, and finally to put the large claw of the lobster on 
his nose, my heart, how they all screamed ! so rapturously, that 
Henri got black in the face, and Jack got up and untied his 
neckcloth, and patted his back ; which medical proceeding only 
increased the uproar to such a pitch, that some dressed-to-death 



134 WILD OATS. 

English, ladies, whose husbands had taken them from their 
hotels to see the cafes, insisted that staying there any longer 
was not proper, and declared such disgraceful creatures ought 
not to be permitted to come in ! And yet, au fond, there was 
no great harm in the merry party ; and the little grisettes 
might, perhaps, have held their heads as high and proudly as any 
of the " Browns," who appeared angry that, after loading them- 
selves with all the expensive things they could procure, they 
did not produce any effect like the trim figures, close-fitting 
lareges, and wicked little caps of Trench girls. 

At last they found that they had all ordered as much as they 
had money to pay for, which alone brought the festival to an 
end ; and then they all turned out upon the boulevard to go 
home, chorusing some popular polka, which Mr. Ledbury illus- 
trated with Clara in front of them along the pavement ; for it 
was a pas he ever loved to dance, knowing his elegance therein. 
Indeed, such was his devotion to it, that nobody at last would 
go with him to the Promenade Concerts, or the band in Ken- 
sington-gardens ; for, whenever a polka was played, he incon- 
tinently danced thereto, unless restrained by physical force, its 
effect on him only being excelled by that which, as recent ob- 
servation shows us, the high-pressure speed of a locomotive is 
apt to have upon the natives of Ethiopia residing in Alabama. 
And this dance and chorus lasted until they left the Boulevards, 
and turned down towards the southern part of the city. 

The night-police of Paris are not too obtrusive. The streets 
are watched by the municipal guard, who go about in bodies, 
and when they have passed you may play up whatever' games 
you like for the next half-hour, from the indefinite " old goose- 
berry" — if you know it — to the devil, who is at all times very 
popular and ubiquitous here. And so Jack, who was becoming 
very light-hearted, commenced the sports and pastimes by leap- 
ing up and pulling down one of the little boards labelled "Ap- 
partement garni a, louer presentement," which hang in such 
numbers over the portes cocheres of the houses. This species 
of entertainment, being new in Paris, was immediately pro- 
nounced a hit ; and accordingly the gentlemen started off on 
either side of the way, taking a jump at all they saw, until they 
had collected a dozen of them at the end of the street. The 
question now arose as to how these should be carried, when 
Henri saw a tempting-looking board over a shop, on which was 
painted the sign of a man making chocolate in his shirt-sleeves, 



ME. LEDBUEY EE VISITS PAEIS. 135 

arid it was accordingly doomed. By a little modification of 
what circus-bills call " the human pyramids of the Athenian 
acrobats of the Pyrenees," they contrived to climb upon one 
another's shoulders until they pulled it down ; and then they 
stacked the other little boards upon it. 

There was a little debate as to who should carry it. At 
length, by each stating that he did not dare to do it, they 
got Mje. Ledbury to say he would, for he thought the act of 
bravery would distinguish him in the eyes of the young ladies ; 
and, accordingly, he put the board on his head, and marched on, 
having crushed his hat down like a Gibus, but with no chance, 
like a Gibus, of springing up again. But this he did not mind; 
for he felt that he was the " marquis," so to speak, of the party, 
and that was all in all sufficient ; so he balanced his cargo with 
one arm, and offered the other to Clara, as proud as an under- 
taker carrying the tray of feathers, like pies, in front of his 
first carriage-funeral. 

Xow they had all got somewhere to put the things, they did 
not mind what they took possession of. They pulled down a 
great red tin hand from a glovemaker's, and a cocked-hat from 
another shop, and, finally, carried off half a dozen plaster masks 
of G-risi, Eubini, Thillon, Plessy, and others, which hung at the 
entrance of the G-alerie Colbert, until Mr. Ledbury could 
scarcely move ; but he kept bravely on until they reached the 
Place des Tictoires, when, on arriving at the foot of Louis the 
Fourteenth's statue, he gasped out that he must rest a minute, 
which was agreed to. 

" Now, look here, Leddy," said Jack, struck by a sudden 
idea. " I've got a notion that will immortalise you." 

" What is it, Jack?" asked Titus, eagerly. 

" See this board with ' Unfurnished room to let' on it. "What 
do you say to tying this round the head of the statue, and leav- 
ing it there r" 

" Glorious ! capital !" said Mr. Ledbury ; " I'll do it !" 

" Stop !" said Jack ; " take your time. Mind the rails — there 
— now — be sure of your footing. I should like to do it myself, 
only you are the tallest." 

TTith a boldness that only the grisettes' eyes and the cham- 
pagne could have given him, Mr. Ledbury, by the help of his 
long arms and legs, contrived to reach the statue, and fix the 
announcement on his head. But he had barely finished this, 
when Jack, who was ever on the qid viue, heard something like 



136 WILD OATS. 

the measured tramp in one of the streets running into the 
Place, and exclaimed, in a quick, alarmed voice, 

" Look out, boys ! Here's the guard coming round. Get 
down, Leddy, get down ! Jules ! Henri ! take up the boards 
and things. We must be off. Keep the pedestal between 
them and ourselves. Leddy, look sharp, I tell you — down the 
Hue des Petits Champs!" 

They were all on the alert. Unwilling to leave their prizes, 
they lifted up the board, and, followed by the grisettes, went 
off as swiftly and as quietly as they could down the street 
Johnson had indicated. But poor Mr. Ledbury — he was in a 
sad way. His coat-tails had got, somehow or other, by some 
strange accident, which never would have occurred to anybody 
but himself, entangled in the metal trappings of the horse, and 
he could not move. He uttered a fearful cry to " Stop !" as 
the others flitted off; but it was of no avail. The next minute 
the guard entered the Place, and, seeing his outline against 
the moonbeams, marched up to him, and ordered him to de- 
scend. For a moment a wild thought entered his head of 
keeping them at bay, knowing they could not reach him with 
their accoutrements ; but at the very first demonstration made 
to this effect, the muskets were pointed at him, and he was 
compelled, with the loss of his tails, to come down. 

Meanwhile, Jack, unwilling to leave him all alone, returned 
with the Lyonnaise in the rear of the guard ; and they stood 
looking on as casual spectators, until Mr. Ledbury reached the 
ground in a sorry plight enough. He immediately perceived 
his friend, and Jack feared he should also be apprehended in 
consequence of the recognition. "Wonderfully enough, Mr. 
Ledbury saw in an instant the utter futility of showing that 
they were acquainted ; but he felt somewhat comforted that 
Jack was near him, and directly, without a word, accompanied 
the patrol to the Corps de Garde as a prisoner — his second ap- 
pearance in that character since we first knew him in Paris. 

There was something so very novel in the charge, that the 
head-patrol scarcely knew what to make of it ; but he saw 
enough to be convinced that Mr. Ledbury was in a state of 
fermented beverages ; and, therefore, instead of locking him up, 
as he looked respectable, he allowed him to sit until morning 
in the lodge ; and then, assured that he was no agent to any 
secret society, and that the placard had no reference to shoot- 
ing at royalty, he sent a guard up with him to his lodgings, to 



MR. LEDBURY REVISITS PARIS. 137 

ascertain if his address was true. He was pleased to see Jack 
waiting for him at the door of the Corps de G-arde ; and he was 
followed by his friend to the Rue Racine, wherein his lodgings 
were situated. 

As they went up-stairs, Johnson passed quickly by them, and 
whispered a word or two to Ledbury in English ; and then he 
continued on, until he came to the artists' studio, into which 
they entered, followed by the landlord, the porter, the porter's 
wife, one or two lodgers, and some idlers, whom the appearance 
of the guard had brought together, in the expectation of seeing 
a room discovered full of infernal machines, seditious papers, 
and arms of all sorts. 

Mr. Ledbury's room was here indicated to the authorities, 
and they were about to enter it, when Titus threw himself 
before it, and begged they would desist ; but finding that the 
guard, which never yielded generally, was not disposed to do so 
on the present occasion in particular, he next changed from the 
suppliant to the heroic state, and, thumping his breast, said 
that if they entered it should be through his heart, which would 
have been a curious way of getting into a room. Whereupon 
the Sergent de Yille asked him for his key, which Mr. Ledbury 
produced, and with a melodramatic " Jamais !" threw it far 
away through the window. On this, the word was given to 
apply the butt-ends of the guns to the door ; and, as the iron- 
work of France is not celebrated for massive strength, it yielded 
at the first blow. "What was the surprise of the party to see, 
surrounded by the masks, tin gloves, boards, and cocked-hats — 
the spoils of the preceding night — the pale, trembling, pretty 
form of Clara, the little Belgian ! 

You must not prejudice her. Let us hasten to show how 
she came there ; for appearances are certainly against her. She 
had gone home with the others ; but finding it so late, and 
afraid to ring up the concierge of her house, who was a terrible 
babbler, the rest had offered her Mr. Ledbury's room, knowing 
pretty well that he would be furnished that night with a lodging 
by the authorities; and the champagne and advanced hours 
had kept the grisette in bed far beyond her usual time. To 
this effect had Jack spoken to Mr. Ledbury on the staircase ; 
and this accounted for his chivalric behaviour. 

The proprietor of the house was in a dreadful state of vir- 
tuous indignation at the discovery, and the various articles 
strewed about the chamber increased his wrath. He bustled 



138 WILD OATS. 

into the room, and turned poor Clara out in the most ungallani; 
manner by the shoulder, on which Mr. Ledbury would have 
flown at him, but for the guard ; and then, kicking the various 
articles to the landing with his foot, he seemed inclined to in- 
clude Mr. Ledbury with them. At all events, he told him to 
quit the house that instant ; that he forgave him all his rent, 
but that he should not stay there a minute longer, so that he 
had better follow his carpet-bag, which he had already got to 
the floor below. Upon this the lodgers started a great cry of 
execration, which brought all the rest out of doors, and the 
tumult increased to a pitch that was absolutely fearful, until 
Mr. Ledbury reached the front gate, whence, from the new 
feature given to his case by the stolen property, he was com- 
pelled to return to the guard-house, as well as poor little Clara, 
who already pictured herself in a long white dress, with her 
hair down her shoulders, going to the guillotine. 

[Fortunately, the head-oflicer was a good fellow, who had been 
a student himself, and at once saw the state of things. The 
grisette was immediately acquitted ; and Mr. Ledbury was com- 
pelled to give up his passport (which is equivalent to putting 
in bail, as you cannot well move without it), and wait, under 
the surveillance of the police, until such times as the people 
should claim their goods, and the Procureur du Eoi should 
" invite" him to appear at the Palais du Justice to explain his 
motives ; and then he also was allowed to depart. 

" We must cut as fast as we can, Leddy," said Jack, as they 
met outside. 

" But I can't," replied Titus. " I must stay here, for they've 
got my passport. And that pretty girl ! Really — I don't know 
— but I've put her in such a very awkward predicament, that I 
think some little attention — I can't explain exactly — but now, 
don't you, Jack ?" 

" Oh, we'll set all that to rights," replied Johnson. " Tou 
really are not safe to go alone yet, Leddy; but there's no mis- 
take about it, we must be off, and sell them all. I'll manage 
it." 

And Jack was as good as his word. That very afternoon he 
went to a railway friend of his, a gentleman who was in a tem- 
porary state of provisionary exile, and got his passport vised 
for England, promising to send it back to him in a letter as 
soon as they arrived. And then he booked two places also that 
afternoon in the Boulogne diligence, for himself in his own 



ME. LEDBUKY EE VISITS PAEIS. 139 

name, and Mr. Ledbury as Mr. Straggles, and departed at 
once ; although, as Titus said, it tore his heart-strings to leave 
the little Belgian so abruptly. But Johnson told him to have 
a pipe, and promised to send her over six pairs of English 
stockings, which is a present grisettes prize above diamonds 
and all other jewels of great price, and that then he would be 
quite happy. 

There was a little parting dinner at a restaurant, close to the 
Messageries ; and Jules and Henri promised to come to England 
in the spring. And — it ought scarcely to be mentioned in 
fairness — just before he took his seat, Mr. Ledbury gave the 
little Belgian a kiss, and not only one, but two or three good 
downright long ones, all of them. And then they waved an 
adieu, and the postilion " cree'd" as usual, and the conducteur 
lighted a cigar, and the passengers got silent and sleepy. And 
being blessed with a quick journey and a fair passage, that time 
the next day they were at Folkestone, once more under the 
shelter of the British Lion, and out of all danger from guards, 
guillotines, and galleys — and, perhaps, what is more, from 
sparkling- eyed grisettes. 



( 140 ) 



XII. 
MRS. CRUDDLE'S ANNUAL ATTACK. 

Eyeetbodt could not have lived where Mrs. Cruddle did. 
It was at the end of a court, that went out of a lane, that opened 
upon a street, that led into a great thoroughfare between St. 
Paul's and the river. It was, furthermore, in a locality that 
looked as if all the spare warehouses and private dwellings, left 
after London was finished, had been turned into a neighbour- 
hood by themselves, without any regard to order ; just as the 
dealers in old furniture make up cabinets and davenports of 
any old scraps of plain and ornamental woodwork thrown aside 
by them after their great design has been achieved. 

Her house, moreover, was difficult to arrive at. First of all, 
the very cabmen were slow at finding it out, never, according 
to the habits of their race, stopping to inquire of any one ; but 
driving on, and on, and on, as if they expected some inherent 
instinct would ultimately show them, or their horses, where to 
stop. Next, if you walked and asked, your first hope, a pedes- 
trian, would reply that he was a stranger in those parts, look 
wistfully around him as if he sought some index floating in the 
air, like the guiding hands in the "White Cat," and then pass 
on. Your second, a policeman, would keep you some minutes in 
suspense, and finish the interview by admitting that he had 
heard of the place, but confessing his ignorance of its exact 
whereabouts ; and your final chance, a baker at the corner, 
would not be sure whether it was the third turning or the 
fourth. Lastly, if you found it out, your journey was all the way 
one of great terror, from the chances that the overhanging wheels 
of the huge waggons would grate you to death against the walls 
of the narrow footway, which was only a kerb ; or, that the 
mighty woolpacks and sugar hogsheads, that hung from the 
cranes high in air over this edging of pavement, would fall just 
as you were passing under, and knock your head into your 
stomach beyond all possible chance of recovery. 

"When, however, you arrived at Mrs. Cruddle's house, it was 
not lively. It seemed to be all back rooms, go into whichever 
one } r ou would, even up at the top, except the very attic, whose 



MB& CEUDDLZ's ANKDA1 ATTACK. 141 

windows opened upon a widely-extended thicket of chimney- 
pots, ultimately lost in the smoke they were giving out, or a 
felling and rising prairie of roofs, reminding one of nothing but 
the view from a railway that runs into the heart of a great city. 
But here Airs. Crnddle had lived for twenty years. TTe men- 
tion the lady more particularly than her husband, because his 
claims to be considered an actual resident were less decided. 
inasmuch as he was a " commercial gentleman," travelling for a 
wholesale druggist, and having as many homes — at all of which 
he was equally known and welcomed — as there were old com- 
mercial inns in principal towns in Great Britain. Mrs. Crnddle, 
however, could scarcely be considered a lone woman. Her 
r was always filled with lodgers — clerks from Doctors' Com- 
m ms, 1 ays from St. Paul's School, and young men from Pater- 
noster-row : and :: all of these, as well as to her own family, 
B : ::ered about in various parts of the City, Mrs. Cruddle was 
a mother. But at one time of the year the domestic position 
of Mrs. Cruddle was considerably altered. Legal courts were 
dosed, holidays arrived at the school, and even in Paternoster- 
row leaves of absence were granted between " magazine days :** 
so that the house became comparatively deserted. Mr. Cruddle 
returned from his travels ; the tracts of chimney-pots became 
more extended in the clear air ; theatres shut, and gardens 
•opened ; boats ran to Gravesend for sums that it would have 
been dangerous to have sold a bottle-imp for ; and everything 
proclaimed that the lazy end of summer had arrived. 

And with it came a complaint to which Mrs. Cruddle had 
loDg been subje:: I: was not cholera, nor influenza, nor any- 
thing else that " went about" to the great delight of the doctors. 
It did not depend upon states of the air, or sanitary neglect ; 
nor was it like the potato disease, general, being in a measure 
confined to England. It was, in facr, the very reverse of the 
ise :: jrer-loYC for the fatherland, consisting in an 
irrepressible desire to get as far away from home as possible. 

Mrs. Cruddle and her husband were such a happy couple, 
that she knew she had only to express her wish for a change 
of air to procure permission and the means forthwith. But 
this did not do. For some incomprehensible organisation 
of her woman's disposition, a request and a ready acquiescence 
would have taken away all the pleasure of the trip. It was 

srion should come from her 
::d, and that then light reasons should be given for its im- 



142 WILD OATS. 

practicability that year, and doubts urged as to its judiciousness. 
And to effect this, she would at this period get up a sort of 
monodrama, and perform it in a very truthful manner, com- 
mencing by complaining of the closeness of the rooms, untying 
her cap -strings, and opening all the windows, as she hinted at 
the luxury of fresh air. Next she would envy Mrs. Saddler of 
Knight Eider-street, and Mrs. Egg of Addle-hill, and the Drivers 
of Great Carter-lane, for that they had all gone somewhere in 
steam-boats ; and were, perhaps, enjoying nice wet feet on the 
sands, or slipping off the green seaweed into the holes of the 
periwinkle rocks, at that very moment. And the number of 
minor diseases that attacked her, perfectly irreducible to any 
medical category, would have puzzled the Eritish College of 
Health, whoever that gentleman may be. Into all these traps 
Mr. Cruddle would good-temperedly fall, in the same kind 
spirit in which you take the card which the conjuror evidently 
forces on you, instead of brutally drawing one from the undis- 
played portion of the pack ; so that at last Mrs. Cruddle, satis- 
fied that the sea-air alone would do her good, prepared to put 
it to the test. Her husband readily acquiesced in everything, 
always excepting that he should be expected to go too, for all 
the time. He enjoyed the holiday much more, he said, when it 
only came once a week ; and so he settled to breathe sea-air 
from Saturday until Monday, keeping in town all the rest of 
the time. It is true during this space he was seen about at 
resorts, dining at Blackwall, or going to Cremorne, with cer- 
tain old friends of his, wags of the travellers' rooms ; and these 
same friends would also, now and then, assemble at his house, 
upon the sly hint that "the broom was hung out," and smoke 
cigars in the drawing-room during a rubber of very long whist. 
But all this was very fair ; and Mrs. Cruddle, even, could not 
be angry when she heard of it. 

" And where do you think of going, my dear?" said Mr. 
Cruddle to his partner, who, ever since the sojourn had been 
determined upon, appeared to have been engaged in learning 
Bradshaw by heart, all the way through, including cab-fares and 
advertisements. " Gravesend ?" 

" JSTow, Cruddle ! Gravesend !" answered the lady, reproach- 
fully. " Gravesend for sea-bathing ! Why, it's nothing but 
brackish mud and shrimps' tails. Besides, a shilling there and 
back : what can you expect at such a price ?" 

"Well, Margate, then?" 



MES. CEUDDLE'S AKN t UAL ATTACK. 143 

" No, Cruddle, not Margate : no." And here Mrs. Cruddle 
made that kind of face which people do when they get the 
first sight of the black draught they are about to take. " No, 
the last bedstead I had there was quite enough for me. 
Ugh !" 

" "What was that, my dear ?" 

" Don't ask me — no : a perfect colony of them. I never 
shall forget Alfy saying he saw a little black ladybird on the 
pillow." 

" Oh! that was it, was it?" replied Mr. Cruddle; "that's 
nothing at the sea-side, you know. You should see the fleas at 
Chester. Lor ! he, he, he ! "We all used to laugh so." And 
the recollection of them appeared so diverting that Mr. Cruddle 
chuckled again. " Joe Eobins used to say always when he 
got there, * Now, Fanny !' he used to say, ' bring me the mouse- 
trap.' — • La ! Mr. Eobins,' Fanny used to say, ' what do you 
want with the mouse-trap ?' — * What !' Joe always said, ' why, 
to catch the fleas with, to be sure !' And then how they used 
to laugh. Lor !" 

And the mere reminiscence of the fun again threw Mr. 
Cruddle into such a state of hilarity that he forgot all about the 
subject of conversation, and, possibly, would not have reverted 
to it again if Mrs. Cruddle had not answered some imaginary 
question of her own by observing, " No, I never was so robbed 
as I was that August at Eamsgate. The moist sugar alone 
would keep me from ever going there again." 

" Try Boulogne !" suggested Mr. Cruddle, brought back to 
the topic. " It's very cheap, and uncommonly curious." 

" France !" cried the lady. " My goodness gracious, Cruddle ! 
" "What — to be made into a barricade, or blown out of your 
bedroom by artillery in the middle of the night, and then 
guillotined. I do declare I've thought of nothing but that 
room at Madame Tussaud's ever since the French Eevolution 
began." 

" Well — I'm sure I don't know, my dear," said Mr. Cruddle. 

" Now, look here," continued his wife, turning over to Brad- 
shaw, " ' London and South- Western' — that's it." 

" ' Cornelius Stovin, manager,' " read Mr. Cruddle. _ " Lor ! 
what an odd name — Stove in ! How it puts you in mind of a 
horse-box got on the wrong line and the express coming up." 

"Now don't, Cruddle!" exclaimed the other; "you quite 
make one nervous. See here : ' London to Southampton, second 



144 WILD OATS. 

class, ten-and-six.' Now then, turn to the boats, and read. 
There it is — ' Southampton ' " 

" ' Southampton to Bombay, on the 3rd of every ' " 

" No, no ! — ' to Eyde ;' there it is ; ' all day long.' Very 
convenient, isn't it ? And the Isle of Wight is so very beauti- 
ful — I think it must be the Isle of "Wight." 

And the Isle of Wight was accordingly fixed on ; and it was 
agreed that poor Miss Peers, who never had a holiday, and 
thought so much of going out, was to accompany Mrs. Cruddle 
on her tour. 

Miss Peers was the useful friend of the Cruddle family — one 
of those available persons who can always come whenever they 
are asked — which is usually when they are most wanted — and 
always look pleasant under the most trying domestic contre- 
temps. She could do everything. Her Tarragon vinegar was 
pronounced, by competent authorities, to be more than supe- 
rior ; and no one could manage short-crust in a floured cloth so 
successfully. She was artful with pink saucers, knew where 
peculiar tints of worsted could be procured at the cheapest 
rate, and understood tea-making to a marvel. If a servant 
was discharged hurriedly by Mrs. Cruddle, Miss Peers always 
knew of the very one to take her place. She possessed in her 
head a whole library of secrets respecting rough-dried linen, 
pickled onions, grape wine, plate powder, and clear-starching ; 
and, the day after a party, knew where everything was to go 
back to, what was left, and how it was to be disposed of, better 
than the hostess herself. Hence she was a great treasure — a 
real blessing to a mother like Mrs. Cruddle ; and as Mrs. Cruddle 
never had any time to read anything, and Miss Peers — who was 
suspected of shaving her forehead to bring out her intellect — 
took in, or borrowed, all the cheap periodicals, and retailed 
their contents during the stringing of a cullender of Prenck 
beans, or the repairing of a basket of the infant Cruddle socks, 
she was as entertaining as useful. Besides which, she was a 
great favourite with little Alfy, who was to accompany his 
mother. 

We pass over intermediate matters — how the strange parcel 
of umbrellas, cloaks, and spades of former years, for the sand 
industry of little Alfy, quite astonished the guards on the rail- 
way ; how they met a poor gentleman who had heedlessly got 
into the wrong train, meaning to go to Eichmond, and had 
been whirled down to Woking before he found it out, both 



MRS. CPOJDDLE'S ANNUAL ATTACK. 145 

starting at the same hour, and being in reality a reputable 
and harmless man, had been looked upon as a swindler, made 
to pay excess fare, and kept out of a lucrative commission ; 
how they enjoyed the sea-trip, and Mrs. Cruddle declared she 
was a capital sailor, and so was little Alfy, and Miss Peers too — 
Southampton "Water and the Solent being as smooth as glass ; 
and how Miss Peers showed Mrs. Cruddle JSTetley Abbey and 
Calshot Castle, the first of which she had seen in some dissolv- 
ing views at the Polytechnic, and the last in a pocket-book, as 
well as at the top of an illustrated sheet of note-paper sent 
very appropriately from the Mile-end-road. How they landed 
ultimately at Eyde, and found that Portsmouth would have 
been their proper line — but had been overlooked in a vague con- 
ventional reminiscence of the coaching days — also formed a fea- 
ture in the trip. But we omit all its detail, and plant our 
party at Ventnor on the same evening, after having crossed 
the island in, possibly, the only stage-coach left in England. 

" "Well, I declare the sea- air makes me feel better already," 
observed Mrs. Cruddle, looking upon her present condition of 
perfect health as a remarkable cure ; " and I never saw a child 
eat as Alfy did at tea. There's nothing like it." 

Mrs. Cruddle made this remark to Miss Peers as they started 
from the inn to look after lodgings. Miss Peers entirely coin- 
cided with the assertion, forgetting that little Alfy had made 
but an indifferent dinner on the railway from a dry sandwich, 
with nothing to drink ; and that this might, in some degree, 
account for the quantity of shrimps he had devoured, and the 
number of times he had been choked by their heads and tails. 

There were many lodgings to let, but none that suited. Some 
were too dear, and others too dirty ; and at all Mrs. Cruddle 
persisted in tasting the water, and telling a story of a friend of 
her husband's who turned light blue through drinking from a 
chalybeate pump constantly, and always got rusty in damp 
weather afterwards. The search would have tired many people, 
but Mrs. Cruddle was never so happy as when she was routing 
about after apartments with no idea of where she would ulti- 
mately go to bed that night. And of course Miss Peers was 
happy, too ; and little Alfy, being lured on from one to the other, 
under false promises of digging sand that very night, was equally 
contented. 

At last, quite at the end of the village, they found what they 
wanted. It was a comical little house, something between a 

L 



146 WILT) OATS. 

Swiss cottage and a donjon keep, with a flagstaff at the door, 
and two wooden cannon on the roof, to which access could be 
obtained. This much delighted Miss Peers, as from it she 
could watch from the lonely tower, and see the rovers' barks in 
the distance, with other romantic pleasures. And, perhaps, the 
landlord might be a bold buccaneer ! It was charming. 

There was everything they wanted. A sitting-room and two 
bedrooms, one of which, looking towards the beach, was appro- 
priated to Miss Peers, because she loved to hear the ocean's 
murmur. Little Alfy had a sofa, since it was his custom to go 
to sleep upon his hands and knees, with his head burrowing in 
the pillow, which, although agreeable to himself, was less plea- 
sant to a bedfellow. There were no carpets, but, as Mrs. 
Cruddle said, that made the room more airy, and air was 
everything at the sea-side ; and the furniture was singular and 
scanty, which contented Miss Peers declared was half the charm 
of a lodging. So that it was all just as if it was made for them ; 
and so cheap, too, they could scarcely understand it. 

Of course there was nothing in the house. There never is at 
lodgings ; and it is wonderful to think how the real natives live 
without salt, vinegar, potatoes, or any other of the inevitable 
articles of consumption, the existence of which is always so 
calmly denied, if they are asked, until the lodgers procure 
their own. There was not even a bit of bread for Alfy, so 
Miss Peers started forth to procure comestibles, leaving Mrs. 
Cruddle to unpack the boxes, which, having done, she sat 
down to look around her. There was a curious air of desola- 
tion in the rooms. Everything appeared to have been carried 
off except the barest necessities. There were nails for pictures, 
but none suspended therefrom ; and rods and hooks for cur- 
tains, but none attached. The only well-stocked part of the 
room was the mantelpiece, and this was covered with bottles of 
sand, vases of seaweed, trifles from Shanklin, cockle pincushions, 
shell dolls, and cats made of putty and periwinkles — articles 
interesting from association, but of small intrinsic value. When 
Miss Peers returned and they wanted something warm, there 
was no fire ; and when they wanted the fire, there were no coals. 
But Mrs. Cruddle was not put out ; she said they had come 
suddenly, so they could not expect to find everything as at 
home, and, after all, health was the greatest blessing. Upon 
which they fell back upon cracknels and cold weak brandy-and- 
water, giving Alfy a little in a glass egg-cup ; for there were 
no wine-glasses in the house. 



MRS. CRUDDLE'S ANNUAL ATTACK. 147 

However, they slept very soundly. Had they not been tired 
with the journey, the constant murmur of talk that went on in 
the kitchen nearly all night would have disturbed them, and 
induced much speculation upon its import. But once off, their 
slumber endured until morning. Mrs. Cruddle dreamt that 
her husband came down on Sunday and brought a dozen friends 
with him, and that they had nothing for dinner but one duck. 
Little Alfy fancied he had dug such a large hole in the sand 
that he tumbled into it, which awoke him with a start ; and 
Miss Peers's visions were of becoming the bride of a bold buc- 
caneer, more or less Grecian in appearance, varied with notions 
of being a mermaid in coral submarine caves, where lobsters 
and home-made pickled salmon could be had for the mere 
trouble of catching. 

"Very bright and beautiful was the next morning, when the 
ladies first looked from their windows — lovely as the first fine 
morning at the sea-side always is to a Londoner. Not a cloud 
was to be seen in the blue sky, except a few white mists which 
occasionally rolled across the summits of the more lofty hills. 
In some places the downs were covered with small white dots, 
which a closer inspection would have proved to have been 
sheep ; in others, with long, sloping wheat-fields, which, as the 
wind came, waved gracefully in a thousand billows, revealing 
the corn-flowers, and bright, intruding poppies growing over 
them. Cockney architecture had been lavished on the village, 
but it could not destroy the beauty of the undercliff; and sea- 
ward the tide splashed its sparkling foam upon the rocks and 
pebbles of the beach, with a sound perfectly musical. Mrs. 
Cruddle pronounced herself better than ever she had been in 
her life, breathing, indeed, with the greatest ease ; and Miss 
Peers's was equally salubrious ; whilst Alfy's appetite astonished 
them both as much as the traditional Jack's did the easily- 
imposed-upon giant, whose hospitality was so craftily taken 
advantage of at breakfast. They settled to go out directly 
after the meal and market — it was a sin to lose an instant of 
such lovely weather — and, accordingly, off they started. But, 
upon their return, they found the door of the house fast closed ; 
and Mrs. Grit, the landlady, looking out of the first-floor 
window in great apparent anxiety, increased as she saw them 
approach. 

" Just wait one minute — only a minute, ladies," said Mrs. 
Grit. " I am very sorry to keep you, but it can't be helped." 

l2 



148 WILD OATS. 

Mrs. Cruddle and Miss Peers looked at the landlady and 
then at each other, rather bewildered. 

" I want my spade !" ejaculated Alfy. 

" A low, sneaking fellow !" continued Mrs. Grit, watching the 
retreating form of the man. " It will be quite safe directly, 
ladies," she added to her lodgers. 

" Mamma, you said I might go on the sand as soon as you 
had bought the mutton-chops," Alfy went on. 

" Now then, ladies — now then!" cried Mrs. Grit, hurriedly, 
as she disappeared from the window. " But please make 
haste." 

"What can this mean?" thought Mrs. Cruddle and Miss 
Peers. 

"That's the way to the sand," said Alfy; "and I know 
there's periwinkles, and starfish, and little crabs, like there 
was at Margate." 

The door was here opened a little way as Mrs. Grit looked 
out. Then she allowed the party to enter, as soon as she was 
satisfied that they had not changed places with anybody else ; 
and, finally, she slammed the door again, with nervous haste, 
and shot the bolt. 

" The beggars are abominable," said Mrs. Grit, when the 
feeling ot security was re-established : " so unpleasant, too, for 
you ladies to be kept waiting. But it is not my fault." 

Prom the imperfect view obtained of the man who had de- 
parted as they came up, Mrs. Cruddle did not think that he 
looked very like a beggar. He was florid and hearty, well clad, 
and carried a walking-stick. 

" I cannot understand this at all," she said to Miss Peers, as 
they entered their sitting-room. 

" I think there must be smuggling going on ; if so, the 
Prench brandy is remarkably good for cherries," replied the 
other lady, in whose mind romance and domestic economy were 
ever mingled. " A smuggler — dear me ! I wish I had taken 
more notice of him." 

" Once I went on the sands directly after breakfast," hinted 
Ally, " and was so good all day afterwards." 

But the suggestion was unattended to in the curiosity of the 
minute. 

Anon new matter for wonder arose. The butcher's boy 
arrived with some meat that had been ordered, and instead of 
delivering it in at the door, in the ordinary method, was told 



MKS. CKUDDLE'S ANNUAL ATTACK. 149 

by Mrs. Grit to wait until she got a long piece of string, by 
which the shoulder of lamb was pulled up to the bedroom 
window. And then, as little Alfy still kept indulging in illu- 
sions of the sea-coast, it was thought proper to indulge him. 
But just as they were about to start, Mrs. Grit put herself be- 
fore the door, in the attitude of a stage heroine, who declares 
that if anybody attempts to pass it shall be over her dead body, 
and implored them to wait a minute. 

" He is here !" she exclaimed, but almost in a whisper. " It 
is not safe just now — pray wait a minute, ladies." 

Mrs. Cruddle grew still more astonished. As for Miss Peers, 
she at once put down the object of alarm as a sea- Chartist, or 
something equally terrible. Every attempt to procure a tran- 
quil explanation from Mrs. Grit was a failure. She only re- 
plied that she was a wretched woman, but that they should one 
day know all : and then, beckoning them to the back of the 
house, opened the kitchen door, after a cautious survey through 
the window, almost pushed them out, and banged it to, as 
before, after them. Under these mysterious circumstances the 
walk was not agreeable ; and although little Alfy was in high 
spirits, and heaped up shingles, dug holes, collected marine 
trash, and got his feet wet after the most approved fashion, 
and in a way that would, at another time, have called forth the 
highest encomiums, Mrs. Cruddle and Miss Peers had a cloud 
hanging over them which prevented them from fully entering 
into the spirit of his diversions. Their return was attended 
with still greater unpleasantry. They were not admitted for 
half an hour, and then in a hurried manner by a Prench 
window, just as the mysterious stranger appeared round the 
corner of the house. All this was so bad, that Mrs. Cruddle 
determined to leave the place the next morning. Even the few 
hours of it, she said, were beginning to undermine her health. 

The afternoon passed very uncomfortably, and at last they 
went to bed, sleeping less readily than on the preceding even- 
ing, but towards morning falling into a deep slumber. Prom 
this Miss Peers was awakened by a noise in her room, and, 
opening her eyes, she observed, to her horror, that the dreaded 
man had opened her window, which she had neglected to fasten, 
and stepped into her chamber. He now stood at the foot of 
the bed. 

" "Who are you ? Go away ! What do you want, man ?" cried 
Miss Peers, with a ringing scream. 



150 WILD OATS. 

u Don't be afraid, ma'am, it's an execution," replied the in- 
truder. 

" A what !" shrieked Miss Peers ; and by this time her cries 
had brought Mrs. Cruddle into the room, who nearly fainted. 
She had caught the man's word, and expected nothing else but 
that everybody was to be put out of the way immediately. 

"I'm sorry to intrude," continued the man; "but don't dis- 
tress yourselves now. Only I'm in possession now, that's all." 

"Oh!" gasped the ladies; Mrs. Cruddle having wrapped 
her form in the bed-curtain, and Miss Peers pulled the counter- 
pane up to her very eyes. 

The truth dawned upon them. They saw that the miserable 
state of the house was owing to everything available having 
been sold, and that their difficulty of egress and entry was ac- 
counted for by the presence of the man. 

" Leave the room !" cried Mrs. Cruddle. " Leave the room, 
and let us pack up our things at once, and go. Well — I'm 
sure!" 

"Beg your pardon, ladies," said the man; "but you can't 
move a thing. I'm in possession." 

" But everything you see is ours — these boxes, and clothes, 
and linen even." 

" Very sorry, ma'am," said the man ; " but you mustn't touch 
'em. They all belong to me." 

Mrs. Cruddle uttered a cry of despair, and threw herself 
upon the reclining form of Miss Peers. Little Alfy heard the 
noise, and came in, joining his screams to the confusion, as he 
clung to his mother. The tableau of horror — helpless, crushing 
horror — was complete. 

# # # * # 

The straits to which the unfortunate ladies were reduced, 
how they could not even get a pocket-handkerchief, how they 
did not dare to write to Mr. Cruddle, and how he arrived on 
Saturday in the middle of it, will be detailed to anybody who 
passes the house at Ventnor, and may care to call. But Mrs. 
Cruddle is supposed to be cured. As violent remedies at 
times put a stop to long-standing diseases, this terrible adven- 
ture is supposed to have annihilated her marine propensities. 
At all events, she confidently told Miss Peers, on the evening 
of their return to the court in London, that " there was nothing 
like home after all." 



( 151 ) 



XIII. 

THE QUEEN OF THE FETE. 
1. — THE DAT BEEOBE. 

(To he read with liveliness.') 

If you're waking, call me early, mother, fine, or wet, or bleak j 
To-morrow is the happiest day of all the Ascot week ; 
It is the Chiswick fete, mother, of flowers and people gay, 
And I'll be queen, if I may, mother ; I'll be queen, if I may. 

There's many a bright barege, they say, but none so bright as 
mine, 

And whiter gloves, that have been cleaned, and smell of tur- 
pentine ; 

But none so nice as mine, I know, and so they all will say ; 

And I'll be queen, if I may, mother ; I'll be queen, if I may. 

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, 
If you do not shout at my bedside, and give me a good shake ; 
For I have got those gloves to trim, with blonde and ribbons 

g a J> 
And I'm to be queen, if I may, mother ; I'm to be queen, if I 
may. 

As I came home to-day, mother, whom think you I should meet, 
But Harry — looking at a cab, upset in Oxford-street ; 
He thought of when we met, to learn the Polka of Miss Eae— * 
But I'll be queen, if I may, mother ; I'll be queen, if I may. 

They say he wears mustachios, that my chosen he may be ; 
They say he's left off raking, mother — what is that to me ? 
I shall meet all the Fusiliers upon the Chiswick day ; 
And I will be queen, if I may, mother ; I will be queen, if I may. 

The night cabs come and go, mother, with panes of mended glass, 
And all the things about us seem to clatter as they pass ; 
The roads are dry and dusty : it will be a fine, fine day, 
And I'm to be queen, if I may, mother; I'm to be queen, if I may. 



152 WILD OATS. 

The weather-glass hung in the hall has turned to " fair" from 

" showers," 
The seaweed crackles and feels dry, that's hanging 'midst the 

flowers, 
Vauxhall, too, is not open, so 'twill be a fine, fine day, 
And I will be queen, if I may, mother ; I will be queen, if I may. 

So call me, if you're waking ; call me, mother, from my rest — 
The "Middle Horticultural" is sure to be the best. 
Of all the three, this one will be the brightest, happiest day ; 
And I will be queen, if I may, mother ; I will be queen, if I may. 

2. THE DAT AFTEE. 

(Slow, with sad expression.") 

If you're waking, call me early — call me early, mother dear ; 
The soaking rain of yesterday has spoilt my dress, I fear ; 
I've caught a shocking cold, mamma, so make a cup for me 
Of what sly folks call blackthorn, and facetious grocers, tea. 

I started forth in floss and flowers to have a pleasant day, 
When all at once down came the wet, and hurried all away, 
And now there's not a flower but is washed out by the rain : 
I wonder if the colours, mother, will come round again ? 

I have been wild and wayward, but I am not wayward now ; 
I think of my allowance, and I am sure I don't know how 
I shall make both ends meet. Papa will be so wild ! 
He says already, mother, I'm his most expensive child. 

Just say to Harry a kind word, and tell him not to fret ; 
Perhaps I was cross, but then he knows it was so very wet ; 
Had it been fine — I cannot tell — he might have had my arm, 
But the bad weather ruined all, and spoilt my toilet's charm. 

I'll wear the dress again, mother — I do not care a pin — 
Or, perhaps, 'twill do for Eflie, but it must be taken in ; 
But do not let her see it yet — she's not so very green, 
And will not take it until washed and ironed it has been. 

So, if you're waking, call me, when the day begins to dawn ; 
I dread to look at my barege — it must be so forlorn ; 
"We'll put in the rough-dried box; it may come out next year v 
So, if you're waking, call me — call me early, mother dear. 



( 153 ) 
XIV. 

THE TRADITION OF " THE FOLLY" AT CLIFTON. 

"We heard a story once of a respectable tradesman, some- 
where in the country, who had an old horse that was accus- 
tomed to go round and round in a mill for the purpose of grind- 
ing some article or another used in his business ; in fact, the 
animal never did anything else. But one day his master took 
it into his head to attend some neighbouring races with. his 
family, and Dobbin was accordingly brought from the mill and 
promoted to the four-wheeled chaise, being his first appearance 
in that character for many years. But such was the habit he 
had acquired in the mill, that the minute his master gave the 
customary expression of a desire to start, the horse turned 
short round, and, falling into his usual routine, described a circle 
with the chaise, and then another, and another : just like one 
of Mr. Cooke's rapid act steeds at a circus, when the gentleman 
in flesh all-overs is making up his mind to jump over the piece 
of striped stair-drugget : until his owner, finding that it was of 
no use trying to make him go in any other manner, gave up the 
excursion in despair. 

But you will say, " What has all this to do with < The Folly' 
at Clifton ?" Just this : that the labours of a periodical writer 
may be in some measure compared to those of the mill-horse 
mentioned above ; and that if he keeps going on too long with- 
out diversion, he will fall into the same jog-trot style, and never 
be able to get out of it. And so, finding that our ideas were, 
so to speak, getting perfectly mouldy from want of change, we 
resolved upon making a rash start, and going we scarcely knew 
whither, but with a determination not to leave our address in 
London. "We invested sixpence in the purchase of a Bradsliaw, 
and tried the ancient divining process of pricking the leaves 
with a pin. It opened at the Great Western, which has three 
pages all to itself ; so, cramming a few things into a curtailed 
carpet-bag of so miraculous a nature that it is never so full 
but you can stow something else into it, we rose with the lark — 
or rather the ragged bird who hangs outside the second-floor 
window of the next house, and does duty for one — and started 
for Bristol. 



154 WILD OATS. 

A bell — a squeal — and we are off. Deep London cuttings, 
and a distant view of Kensal Green; the Hanwell Viaduct, 
with its rich pastures below ; the grey profile of Windsor 
Castle on the left, and then the Slough Station, where all the 
up-and-down lines appear to cross, and twist, and tie them- 
selves into knots, and yet seldom bring about a collision. On 
again ! Maidenhead is passed, and the fair woods of Clifden, 
glorious in the noontide heat, and the springs where the "Wind- 
sor and Eton people have such pleasant pic-nics. Then a long, 
long cutting, where you see nothing for miles but a bank ; then 
Beading gaol — ruins and churches flying by, or rather, we are ; 
rich plains and distant headlands, with the diminished Thames 
creeping through the green pastures here and there, until we 
are at Swindon, where the noble refreshment-rooms, and the 
pretty girls who attend them, are as much worth seeing as 
anything else upon the line, and well deserve the ten minutes' 
grace allowed to hungry travellers. By the way, there were 
prettier girls once at Wolverton, but they have flown. We 
suppose they have been married off. 

On arriving at the noble terminus at Bristol, which puts one 
in mind of Westminster Hall compressed, we climbed an atten- 
dant omnibus bound for Clifton. The flys attached to the 
railway form the most ludicrous collection of those vehicular 
insects ever known, being of all possible shapes and dimensions ; 
but looking to the extraordinary hills they contrive to climb, 
they approach nearer to the common fly in their nature than 
any others ; for we are convinced, if need were, they would go 
up the wall of a house. We wound through a lot of old streets, 
bounded by old houses, amongst which we will particularise the 
White Hart Inn : just such a house as you could fancy flung 
back the sunlight from its lozenged casements in Chepe in the 
olden time, whilst the 'prentices played at buckler below. Then 
we crossed a bridge over the Avon, which is here a dock, and 
got upon the quays. This part of the city is exceedingly like 
an English translation of Havre, with the exception that we 
miss the cockatoos, Java sparrows, shells, and monkeys, with 
which the latter place abounds. 

After toiling up a succession of hills — dusty, shadowless, 
and baking — until we began to entertain doubts as to whether 
we were not at once going to the moon, we were deposited at 
an hotel at Clifton, and soon started off a pied to see the chief 
lion. This is St. Vincent's Bock — a cross-breed between the 
Drachenfels on the Bhine, and Windmill Hill at Gravesend, 



THE TKADITKXN" OF "THE FOLLY" AT CLIFTON. 155 

so renowned for their separate Barons, Siegfried and Nathan. 
It is certainly very beantifu.1 ; but our first impressions of the 
Avon were not favourable, its appearance being that of dirty 
pea-soup. It was low water, to be sure : when the tide is in 
there is a vast difference, but still the colour is the same. The 
scenery around is most lovely ; it is a portion of the Rhine 
seen through the wrong end of a telescope, or rather a glass of 
very diminishing power. Far away, over the hills, you can trace 
the Severn, and beyond this the view is bounded by the blue 
"Welsh mountains ; whilst inland there are a number of equally 
charming prospects, although of a different nature. On the 
opposite banks are beautiful woods, with cottages for making 
tea, which are always thronged with visitors, chiefly of the 
working classes, and a fine pure atmosphere it is for them to 
escape into, from the confined air of Bristol. Their great 
amusement is swinging, six or seven of these machines being 
always in motion : and the white dresses of the girls, oscillating 
amongst the trees, have a curious effect. 

If you look towards the sea, you will perceive, high up on 
the hill, a round tower ; --and if you ask any native of the place 
what it is, he will tell you it is called " The Folly." Why it is 
so named we are going to tell you, for of course there is a tra- 
dition attached to it. A tower without a tradition would be a 
public building without a public discontent at its design — a 
cab without a broken-kneed horse— a fancy ball without a King 
Charles or a Rochester — a burlesque without a joke upon " cut 
your stick" — a number of I*tmch without one of Mr. Leech's 
pretty girls — a list of new books without one from Mr. Trol- 
lope, or Mrs. Gaskell ; or any other improbability. This, then, 
is the story : 

In that romantic epoch which forms the middle age between 
the periods of " once upon a time" and " there was formerly a 
king" — the era of everything that was wonderful in the fairy 
chronicles — there was, one day in autumn, great feasting and 
revelry on a very fine estate, whose homestead rose where the 
tallest and oldest trees now cap the rocks opposite St. Vincent's 
— a leafy wig kindly furnished by nature to the bald limestone. 
They knew what revelry was in those days, when they really 
went in for it. The retainers were not bored with speeches 
about temperance and the wrongs of the poor man. They 
were all allowed to feast, and dance, and tipple, and get won- 
derfully drunk just as they pleased ; and on this particular day 
they did so with a vengeance, for it was a very joyful occa- 



156 WILD OATS. 

sion. The lady of the house had presented her liege lord with 
a little son and heir, after he had waited several years for the 
arrival of the small stranger ; and so, in his joy, he presented 
all his household with a little sun and air as well, giving them 
a grand banquet on his lawn, and extending his invitations to 
everybody round about the country who chose to come. And 
a rare feast they made of it. They roasted a dozen oxen entire ; 
and tapped more barrels of beer than all the horses of all the 
brewers in England could have drawn, had they kindly lent 
them for the occasion; and after they had danced with the 
girls, and flustered them with such ringing kisses that the very 
woods echoed again ; and pitched about the plates and drinking- 
mugs so recklessly that, had they been hired of a professed 
lender of rout glass and china, a whole year's income would 
not have covered the breakages. But luckily all the plates 
were wooden platters, and the mugs black leather jacks, so 
that they could have been kicked into the last quarter of the 
next moon without injury. In fact, the girls' hearts were the 
only things there that might have been ticketed " with care ;" 
and several of these, the chronicles say, were broken outright 
that day. 

People who are clever in legendary lore find out that many 
traditions bear a wonderful analogy to one another. Arabia, 
Germany, France, and England, all lay claim to the same 
stories ; and the Sultana Scheherazade, M. Grimm, the Coun- 
tess d'Anois, and the Dowager Bunch were evidently originally 
all of one family, but were driven by circumstances to settle in 
different parts of the world. And so we did not wonder at 
the opening event in the story being like a circumstance in the 
life of " The Sleeping Beauty" — the unfortunate omission of 
somebody who expected to have been invited to the birthday 
festivities. This is, however, not so improbable, for we believe 
there never was a large party given yet but a similar mistake 
occurred. 

However, although in the present case it was not a fairy, it 
was somebody equally wonderful — no less a person than an 
astrologer — one of those gentlemen who at the present time 
live in back garrets in Paternoster-row and write almanacks, 
but who formerly poked about in caves and hovels, and wore 
old dressing-gowns covered with red tinsel copies of the signs 
on the show-bottles of chemists and druggists and cheap 
doctors, and studied enormous ledgers in a similar language, 
as difficult for common eyes to read as the cypher on a young 



THE TKADITION OF "THE FOLLY" AT CLIFTON. 157 

lady's note paper. He was not asked, because they knew he 
was a wizard ; and they thought that if any of them inadver- 
tently offended him he would change the roast beef they were 
eating to crooked pins and tin-tacks, or carry them up on the 
stable brooms to indefinite heights above the level of the Avon, 
and then let them fall on the rocks. In fact, they trusted to 
his not hearing anything about it. 

But they forgot the party was in the country, and that in the 
country, then as now, everybody was sure to know what was 
taking place. The astrologer, who was known as the Wizard 
of the Sou' -"West, heard of it ; and as he had not received an 
invitation, he came without. Nobody dared oppose him ; he 
stalked through the lines of tables, and went to the end one, 
at which the lord of the estate, and a few exclusive friends who 
would have been allowed silver forks at the present day, were 
seated. And then, before the host could speak, he drew forth 
a scroll, and read as follows : 

" Twenty times shall Avon's tide 
In chains of glist'ning ice be tied : 
Twenty times the woods of Leigh, 
Shall wave their branches merrily; 
In spring burst iorth in mantle gay 
And dance in summer's scorching ray; 
Twenty times shall autumn's frown 
"Wither all their green to brown, 
And still the child of yesterday 
Shall laugh the happy hours away. 
That period past, another sun 
Shall not his annual circle run 
Before a silent, secret foe 
Shall strike the boy a deadly blow. 
Such — and sure — his fate shall be : 
Seek not to change his destiny." 

And having delivered himself of this prediction, he gave the 
scroll to the host, and made a bow, as though he had been pre- 
senting an address ; but, not waiting for any " gracious answer," 
stalked proudly back again to where he came from, the precise 
locality of which spot we cannot ascertain. The common 
people at the lower end of the table, thinking it was a speech, 
applauded lustily, without understanding it a bit, as is their 
wont. The lord looked very much put out, but it would not 
do to be " slow" on such a day before his guests ; so he called 
for "Some more wine, ho!" and having drunk himself into 
utter forgetfulness of everything, determined, after the manner 
of many married gentlemen in similar domestic positions, to 



158 WILD OATS. 

make a night of it, which process consisted in not allowing there 
to be any night at all. 

But he thought of it, the first thing on waking in the morn- 
ing, or rather the afternoon, of the next day ; and when his 
lady was sufficiently recovered to bear it, he told her ; and 
although they both agreed it was all nothing, and everybody 
must be daft to listen to the ravings of an impostor, they 
thought a good deal about it nevertheless. 

*&* JUm life -V- 

•S* w w ^n? 

" Twenty years are supposed to have elapsed between the 
first and second parts," as the playbills say; and the heir had 
become the realisation of a novelist's and dramatic hero. He 
was tall, handsome, and clever. He would have fought any 
odds of villains, had he seen just occasion. In the sports of 
the field and forest nobody could surpass him ; and in winning 
the favour of any fair one he chose to pay his court to, he dis- 
tanced all his competitors ; indeed, he finished by gaining the 
love of the most beautiful and charming girl in all the south of 
England. But, as the period of his majority arrived, the father 
and mother recollected the prediction, and got very nervous ; 
and, after much curtain debate, they agreed the best plan 
would be to build him up in a tower, all alone by himself, until 
the fatal period had passed. The matter was settled, and a 
cunning architect was sent for, who ran up the building in a 
space of time that would have thunderstruck even the Bays- 
water and Park "Village builders, especially if they had known 
it would have lasted for centuries. The young Lord of Clifton 
did not altogether much approve of his solitary confinement, 
more especially as he had been guilty of no crime ; but the 
parents were imperative, and so, as soon as his twentieth birth- 
day arrived, he went to the tower, which they had fitted up 
very comfortably, with as many missals as they could collect, to 
beguile the time, and every sort of preserve, and potted meats, 
and bottled drinks that the age knew how to prepare. He was 
to wait entirely on himself ; not a servant, not a human being 
was to be his companion; everything he wanted was to be 
pulled up by a cord to a high window, and the lord himself, with 
his most trustworthy followers, encamped round the building. 

He found it rather dull at first, for he was naturally fond of 
company ; but by little and little he got used to it, and he in- 
vented a species of telegraph, by which he could converse with 
his friends — and one especially, across the river — so that the 
time did not hang quite so heavily. Even at an amateur per- 



THE TRADITION OF 

formance there is a pitch when you get beyond yawning, with 
nothing to divert you but the wonderful odd people, and they 
are always worth a visit to look at any day. Well, the winter 
went away, the woods became green once more in the spring, 
and the tangled wild flowers spangled them in the summer. 
Then their leaves began to rustle, and the days got short and 
chilly, and the prisoner, at the first cold breath, not deterred 
by economical motives of any kind, thought that it was time to 
begin fires, and hauled his fagots up accordingly. 

The term of his solitude at length came to an end, and one 
bright, sharp, autumnal morning all the family assembled to 
conduct him home. But, for a wonder, they did not see him at 
his usual place at the window to meet them. They shouted 
and blew their horns, but all to no effect ; and at last got a 
ladder, and the father himself ascended and climbed through 
the loophole ; but his cry of grief soon brought the rest up 
after him. They thronged up the ladder as though they had 
been a besieging party at modern Astley's, and entered the 
room, where they found their master lying prostrate on the bed 
of his son, convulsed with mental agony. A single glance 
assured them that the boy was dead. 

One or two of the servants lifted the Lord of Clifton from 
the body, as another turned down the coverlid to discover the 
cause of the fatal occurrence. And there, coiled upon the 
young heir's breast, with its head resting on a livid spot, they 
found a poisonous viper, who had evidently crept out of one of 
the fagots, roused from torpor by the warmth of the chamber. 
In spite of all the precautions, the astrologer's prediction had 
been fulfilled. 

This, then, is the story of " The Polly." We cannot vouch 
for its severe authenticity ; in fact, if we were driven hard by a 
strong-minded inquirer, we might confess that we don't believe 
a word of it. But whilst such marvellous impossibilities are 
associated with every old wall and tumble-down tower on the 
Ehine, and holiday tourists really think it absolutely necessary 
to get them up, and become as enthusiastic about them as a 
bottle of steam-boat Moselle will always make them, we don't 
see why our own ruins should not enjoy an equal share of the 
romantic visitors' sentimental reveries ; and therefore we re- 
commend all who are apt to be taken so, to go to Clifton, and 
once more people the neighbourhood with the personages of 
our story. The excursion is worth all the trouble. 



( 160 ) 



XV. 

NARRATIVE OF AN EXPEDITION TO THE END OF 
BIRKENHEAD, 1846. 

Theee is a delicious feeling of approaching enterprise always 
experienced upon emerging from the terminus of a long railway 
into a strange town. The utter uncertainty as to the direction 
you must take ; the eager curiosity with which'you approach the 
corner of every street, almost regarding it as you would do the 
green curtain of a theatre that will presently discover some 
new scene to you ; the idea that all the shops, and houses, and 
people have sprung into existence that very moment, and that 
they had no being before you saw them, but have been con- 
jured up to meet you — a somewhat conceited thought ; the 
entirely different appearance of the place to what you had de- 
termined it ought to have been, in your own mind, before you 
saw it, and consequently the greater novelty, — all these things 
make a first visit to anywhere sufficiently exciting. 

But when this feeling of strangeness lasts beyond the first 
impression, it is apt to get tiresome, and especially so to a 
Londoner, who can scarcely comprehend being in a large place 
that he does not know the minute anatomy of — at least in his 
own country. Abroad, he never ventures out, if an utter 
stranger, without a guide or a map ; and, indeed, seldom desires 
to see more than the places whose locale is sufficiently conven- 
tional to be discovered without much difficulty, putting aside 
the chance of his not knowing the language indigenous to the 
country. But when he comes to a large place of which there 
is as yet no popular map, and whose outskirts are rising up in 
the night like Aladdin's palaces, quicker than even the abori- 
gines can follow the names that indicate their sites, his case is 
somewhat perplexing. 

Everybody has heard of Birkenhead — originally a little nu- 
cleus of life, which has been shooting out in all directions, like 
a crystal forming on the disc of a microscope, until its diameter 
has come to be a very fair walk for an appetite — on the Cheshire 



EXPEDITION TO THE END OF BIRKENHEAD, 1846. 161 

side of the Mersey. It so happened that, a short time since, 
being at Liverpool, we determined upon paying a visit, before 
leaving for town by the half-past-four express, to a cousin, a 
young architect, located in the before-mentioned rising town ; 
a follower of the large permanent encampment there setting 
up, with whom we had passed through all the constructive 
stages of infantile mud, Ramsgate sand, toy-shop bricks, dis- 
sected barns, little theatres, rabbit-hutches, and rustic veran- 
dahs, to those wilder castellated buildings of maturer age, 
which, in the spirit of true opposition as regards freedom, the 
Prench give to Spain, and we to the air. At last we parted. 
He took to building magazines in stories ; we, to constructing 
stories in magazines ; and when, after a long separation, we 
found we were at Liverpool, and that he, as his card informed 
us, was at " St. Michael's-terrace, Birkenhead," we determined 
to call upon him. 

" Terrace" — it was a grand word : there would be little diffi- 
culty in finding it. " St. Michael's," too, sounded well. Had 
it been" Prospect-terrace," or "Albert-terrace," or " Brown's- 
terrace," we should have mistrusted it ; but " St. Michael's- 
terrace" conjured up at once images of terraces known to the 
great world ; of the terrace at "Windsor Castle, when the band 
is playing, and the tall mustachios of the Life Guards are out 
for a stroll ; of Connaught-terrace, wherein drawing-rooms light 
up so well, and cornets-a-pistons— sound so silvery amidst the 
wax-lights— pure patrician wax-lights, not Price doing duty for 
them — in the " Bridal Waltz," that one above all others for 
deux temps, cinq temps, or any time at all that could be in- 
vented by the most frantic professor ; even of the terrace on 
the old Adelphi drop-scene, where the cavalier of the middle 
ages is supposed to be singing to his lady, who is, in turn, sup- 
posed to be listening to him inside the window ; or of "West- 
bourne-terrace, where there are some inmates who would have 
driven all the cavaliers of the middle ages into the wildest tom- 
fooleries of chivalry, but the number of which we do not tell, 
for fear the public should flock to see then too eagerly. All 
these associations put us quite at rest about the practicability 
of readily finding out St. Michael's-terrace. 

In the pride of our heart, having, in the language of the 
Neapolitan fisherman, " beheld how brightly broke the morn- 
ing," we left St. George's Pier, Liverpool, on board the odd 
steamer which conveys anybody who " don't care twopence" 

M 



162 WILD OATS. 

(paid for the journey) to Woodside, on the other shore of tlie 
Mersey, which, is to Birkenhead what Bankside is to the 
Borough. The steamer was a curious affair. It had all sorts 
of strange decks and seats, and a rudder and wheel at either 
end, so that it could " go ahead" or take " half a turn astarn" 
with equal facility ; and the engine was directed upon deck. 
Two iron bars kept oscillating from out the hatches, as if a 
gigantic metal lobster was imprisoned below, and these were 
his feelers ; by them was the machinery governed. The journey 
occupied two or three minutes — literally no time, in the amuse- 
ment derived from the panorama of docks, ships, buildings, and 
flashing water around us. 

On landing at Woodside, we were too proud just at present 
to ask our way, so we followed the throng up what appeared to 
be the principal thoroughfare, and at last coming to a division 
of roads, thought it time to inquire after St. Michael' s-terrace. 
To this end, we placed our faith in the intelligence of a con- 
tiguous baker, who, in return, " thought he knew the name, 
but couldn't exactly say whereabouts it was, not for a certainty, 
except that it wasn't within a goodish bit of his shop ; but he 
reckoned the policeman opposite might know." With that 
irritable feeling always provoked by a person, who, upon being 
asked the way to anywhere, never puts you out of your misery 
at once, but, after keeping you in suspense for some time, at 
last confesses " he's a stranger in these parts," we left the shop 
somewhat discourteously, and attacked the policeman. The 
policeman's answer was frank and decisive ; he had never heard 
of no such place at all ; but added, that there was a map in the 
market, a little way off; and so we turned towards the market. 

Birkenhead will, without doubt, some day be a great town ; 
but at present it is rather suggestive than imposing. The 
grand thoroughfares are simply marked out by a kerb and a gut- 
ter ; and marvellous traps are laid to catcb foreign pedestrians, 
fashioned like that which Jack laid for the Cornish giant, by 
covering sticks over a deep hole, which let you fall into embryo 
areas and dust-holes. The sticks in this case are planks, and 
they tip up sideways like a beetle-trap when you tread on 
them. Everything is new; new door-steps, new slates, new 
shutters ; and where there are no houses, they are preparing to 
build them. Deep foundations are dug here and there, and 
about, which form into ponds for the ducks to dabble in; 
ground is partitioned off, and traces of the old localities are 



EXPEDITION TO THE END OF BIKKENHEAD, 1846. 163 



rapidly disappearing. Now and then, a bit of primeval hedge, 
black and stunted, stares up in amazement at the improve- 
ments around it ; and a piece of old wall, that hemmed in some 
garden of the middle ages, finds itself in the centre of an in- 
tended square ; but beyond this, there is little to recognise the 
former spot by. 

"We contrived to find the market-place, a nice building, by 
the way, resembling a railway terminus pulled out like a tele- 
scope, with fountains, and stalls, and edibles, and, we should 
suppose customers, only we could not have been there at the 
proper time to meet them. Eut there must have been people 
to buy things somewhere, because there were shops, with cloth 
caps at sixpence, and stout men's highlows in the windows ; and 
even note-paper and envelopes. At the end of the market-place 
we found the map ; it was, if we remember aright, a manuscript 
one, and the authorities had blockaded all approach to it with 
large forms and tables. But our situation was somewhat des- 
perate. We were not to be stopped by trifles ; and we climbed 
over all the obstacles until we got close enough to it. There 
were all sorts of names of existing and intended streets, but 
not the one we wanted ; and getting down again at the peril of 
our neck, we vandyked along the central avenue, asking every 
stall-keeper on each side, and with the same ill luck. At last 
we were directed to apply at the Parish Office ; and this ap- 
peared the best chance yet : it must be a strangely desolate 
place that rate-collectors did not know of it. Eut that know- 
ledge, even here, was somewhat hazy ; they certainly had heard 
of such a place, although they did not know at which point of 
Eirkenhead it was situated ; but they rather thought it was at 
the end of Grange-lane. 

The end of Grange-lane ! There was desolation in the very 
name. It told of dreary coppices and quags ; of water-courses 
and lonely paths ; of moated granges without even a Mariana 
to be aweary in them. Our spirits sank within us ; but we 
thanked the gentlemen in the office for the sympathy they 
evinced in our tale of distress, and having had our route pointed 
out to us on another map, evidently the fellow to the one in the 
market-place, we set off again upon our weary pilgrimage. At 
the corner, a boy — the only one in sight— was standing on his 
head with his feet against the wall, apparently for lack of better 
employment. "We gently knocked him over to ask if we 
were right, intending to give him a penny ; but the acerbity 

m2 



164 WILD OATS. 

of his " Now then, you jest do that again, that's all !" stopped 
our mouth, and we went on until we saw the shop of John 
Power, a licensed victualler, invitingly open. We entered, and 
humbly made the old inquiry. 

" Parthrick !" cried the individual we applied to, with a strong 
Hibernian accent. 

" Sirr !" replied a hamper, in the corner of the shop. 

" "Which is Michael's staircase ?" said the first speaker ; at 
least we thought so, and we mildly suggested St. Michael's- 
terrace. 

" Oh, your sowl, it's all the same, and he knows it, you'll 
see," continued the man. " "Where is it ?" 

" Down by the hotel," answered the hamper; and then the 
lid rose, and a head appeared from it, and went on : " Keep 
right away from the door, and take a turning you'll see before 
you, and then anybody will tell you." 

And this information being considered sufficient, the head 
went down again, and there was a noise as of packing bottles. 

Whether the directions were wrong, or whether the position 
of our informer made the difference, we cannot tell. We only 
know that, after much more dispiriting wandering, in the ab- 
sence of the Polar star to guide us, we described almost a circle, 
and found ourselves once more at the market. We were 
literally ashamed to ask again. We fancied that the policeman 
looked suspiciously at us ; and the dealers eyed us as if we had 
been the Wandering Jew. At last, by the luckiest chance in 
the world, we saw a postman — a strong-minded, intelligent 
man, above equivocation — and he directed us as clearly as 
minute directions about places perfectly out of sight would 
allow him to do. We followed his plan; and, after passing 
rows of shell houses, and embryo chapels, and crossing perilous 
chasms, and limping over roads of broken crockery, and an- 
gular bits of granite with all their sharp sides uppermost, 
which made the walk as pleasant as it would have been along 
a wall with bottles on the top, we at length arrived, footsore 
and weary, at a row of houses they told us was St. Michael's- 
terrace, for no name had been put up ; neither were there 
any numbers, and all the doors were alike. Morgiana and her 
<?halk could have bothered the whole of the forty thieves be- 
yond all chance of identifying any of the abodes, better than 
in Bagdad. 

We found out the house, however, and conceived the last 



EXPEDITION TO THE END OF BIRKENHEAD, 1846. 165 

coup had been given to our misery by finding, also, tbat our 
cousin was not at home. Hearing that we were at Liverpool, 

he had gone over to Eadley's to find us out, and he had got 

the keys ! So we wrote a few words, in bitterness of heart, on 
a card, as we should have done to put in a bottle, in some great 
extremity out at sea ; and sorrowfully began to retrace our 
steps. Of course we missed our way again. We had noticed 
a sandstone wall, with a top made of uneven bits, set on their 
edges, but there were so many like this, that when we thought 
to be at Woodside, we found ourselves at Birkenhead Church ; 
and now bavin g, as we conceived, a right to rest, we strolled 
into the churchyard. 

The ruins of the old Priory of Birkenhead — or ByrhTied, as 
it was once called — are behind the church, and we paid them a 
visit. There was something inexpressibly refreshing in arriving 
at this tranquil oasis in the wilderness of new glaring bricks, 
and glowing slates, and dusty scaffold-boards and poles, that 
surrounded it. In an instant its ivy-costumed walls shut out 
everything from the view ; and nothing told of neighbouring 
life, except a few bright green-house plants gleaming through 
an old Glothic window-space from the garden of a cottage ornee 
adjoining. The door of the chapel was open, and we rested on 
one of the benches. The sun fell pleasantly upon the old red 
monuments of the cemetery, and pierced the evergreens of 
the ruins to flit on the turf below. All was calm and soothing ; 
nothing breaking the quiet but the pattering of the autumnal 
leaves as they were driven into the chapel, and almost sounded 
like footsteps, as if its ghostly residents once more peopled it. 
There is a board at one of the gates leading to an inner ruin 
making known that " strangers are not permitted to go into 
this place on the Sabbath-day." It is difficult to conceive what 
feeling not in accordance with the day in question could be 
generated by a visit thereto. But there must be some other 
reason. 

The pier-bell broke our day-dreams. "We hurried down to 
the ferry and missed the boat ; so that as the steamers do not 
leave Monk -ferry so frequently as they quit the other piers, 
we were obliged to go on to Woodside. Everywhere the spirit 
of enterprise and speculation is at work ; on all sides hotels, 
streets, public buildings, and docks towards the river, are in 
progress of formation. The entire colony has the appearance 
of being certain to prove either the greatest hit or the grandest 



166 WILD OATS. 

failure on record, for those concerned in it. The part that 
struck us as most worthy of notice, is the Park, which we sub- 
sequently visited. "We have nothing at all like it of the kind 
in London, nor, we should conceive, anywhere else. It is laid 
out and varied with consummate taste. 

"We had to wait again at "Woodside until the half-hour came 
round, and when we got once more to Liverpool, we had still 
so much to do, that all notions of leaving that day were out of 
the question. Even our ten minutes at the ruins would not 
have aided us, if they had been recalled. And so we wish well 
to Birkenhead, and shall be delighted to read in the papers of 
its extension and improvement, of the spirit of its inhabitants 
and prosperity of its institutions ; but we shall not venture 
into its wilds again, until all its streets and rows and terraces 
are marked in proper maps, and some of the dangers are abo- 
lished which at present threaten the enterprising visitor at 
every step. Until then, whatever relations we have to esta- 
blish with its inhabitants shall be accomplished by post. 



( 167 ) 



XVI. 

MISS PEEKAPPLE AND THE GOTHICS' BALL. 

Miss Pebkapple was the oldest young lady we ever knew ; 
and we wager the world to a China orange — which are long 
odds, but which, at the same time, there is no possibility of 
settling, even if you lose, so they may always be laid with tran- 
quillity — that if you had known her you would have thought 
the same. And we will even allow you to have lived amidst a 
legion of young old ladies, who had fallen back upon the calm 
of tracts and canaries, from the anxiety attendant upon man's 
insincerity. 

Miss Perkapple's nose was sharp, and always got red in cold 
weather before anybody else's ; and she had very uncomfortable 
shoulders, with curious points and peaks about them unknown 
in popular social anatomy. She had also great evidence of 
collar-bone ; and wore spectacles, with glasses of a light bluish 
tint; and she was accustomed to dress her hair in fanciful 
designs, the like of which had never been seen before — not 
even in the imaginative range that begins in the fashion books 
and terminates on the waxen brows of hairdressers' dummies. 
Prom these it may be conceived by intelligent minds that Miss 
Perkapple was also literary — in fact, a Prancer. 

Not that all literary characters are like her — very far from 
it. For some have white rounded shoulders ; and some have 
finely chiseled profiles ; and in others, nothing of red is remark- 
able in the features except where it ought to be — glowing on 
the lips and faintly flushing on the cheeks. And there is one 
sweet lady whose face you could gaze upon for ever, and 
marvel not that, between the beauty of her floating glittering 
eyes and glossy braided hair and rosy mouth, and that of the 
sweet thoughts she can give utterance to, there should be some 
close analogy. 

But these are not Miss Perkapple's clique. For when we 
state that, in addition to her other characteristics, she wore 
gloves, generally, without regard to temperature, with the tops 



168 WILD OATS. 

of the fingers cut off, through which the real ones protruded, 
as though they had thrust themselves out to see what was 
going on, like caddis- worms ; and was reported to have a fine 
ankle, which at times she needlessly exhibited on a footstool ; 
and was a beautiful figure — not a bit made up — principally 
from the want of any appui for crinoline to rest upon, — when 
we whisper all this, it will be seen at once that Miss Perkapple 
belonged to the high-purposed, rather than the popular, style 
of literature. So those of her class, acting on the same notion 
that framed the proverb, " The nearer the church the farther 
from Heaven," addict themselves to subjects of domestic family 
interest, dependent in no small measure upon that holy state, 
which they have not the most remote chance of ever knowing 
anything about. 

Perhaps Miss Perkapple was a trifle more romantic than the 
majority of her co-poetesses. She believed in Venice — in fact, 
she had a very great idea of Venice — and she had written a 
great many ballads to her gondolier. She had never been 
there ; but she had a beautiful lithograph of the Grand Canal, 
from the title-page of a song; and a line engraving of the 
Piazza San Marco, cut from an Annual ; and she had, more- 
over, read Cooper's " Bravo ;" and had once seen the " Bottle 
Imp" acted in London, with " its bright and glittering palaces ;" 
so that she was quite qualified to address her gondolier when- 
ever she chose. She was also much attached to Spain, and had 
written of Boleros and bull-fights ; and spoke of Andalusian 
eyes, and the sparkling Guadalquiver, and rich Aragon blood ; 
she never said much, however, about Spanish onions or Cas- 
tile soap, they were too commercial to be romantic ; and she 
touched but lightly upon Seville oranges. But she had a pair 
of castanets hung up in her room, which, by the way, she could 
not play ; and in a corner of the Fogtliorpe Messenger she 
had written various Spanish ballads, in which she called thirty- 
shilling sherry "her golden wine of Xeres," and alluded to 
" the Cid," and made some hazy mention of the " Alhambra ;" 
though, from her knowledge of the latter place being somewhat 
vague, albeit she had never been there, she was very nearly 
putting her foot in it. But what she lacked in absolute ac- 
quaintance with Spain, she made up in enthusiasm. 

It must not be presumed that Miss Perkapple always lived 
at Pogthorpe. She had friends in London, who occasionally 
asked her to stay with them, and took her about to literary 



169 

soirees at institutions, and pointed out to her the popular 
writers of the day ; and although they sometimes made slight 
mistakes, and whispered that Mr. Thackeray was M. Louis 
Blanc, and called Mr. Charles Kean Mr. Eobson, and pointed 
out Sir Edwin Landseer as Mr. Alfred Crowquill, the funny 
gentleman ; yet, as she was not undeceived at the time, these 
things made Miss Perkapple equally happy. Indeed, she was 
determined to enjoy everything ; for she had got over her 
Christmas literary labours, and written a seasonable tale, called 
" The Frost on the "Window-pane," after having turned the 
Every-day Book inside out to find some new winter subject, all 
the yule logs, wassail bowls, mistletoes, plum-puddings, holly 
boughs, new-year's days, and snows having been long used up. 
The friends of Miss Perkapple were most respectable tailors. 
JSTot common tailors, understand ; there was no shop with 
little wax boys at the door, and remarkable ready-made waist- 
coats labelled "The Thing!" in the window. They did not 
throw books into railway omnibuses, nor advertise poetically, 
nor publish small works of fiction pertaining to their calling ; 
such as "The Walhalla of Waistcoats," or "The Paletot 
Palace," or " The Kingdom of Kerseymere." No. They had 
a quiet window with a wire gauze blind, on which their name 
alone appeared ; and sometimes you would see a single pair of 
trousers — generally of a noisy check pattern — hanging over 
the blind aforesaid ; and if you went in, there was Mr. Striggs, 
the principal, working problems on rolls of cloth with French 
chalk, and mighty scissors that looked more fitted to cut off the 
heads of pantaloons in a pantomime than to cut out their legs 
on a shop-board. There was a private entrance in the passage, 
too, fitted up with one of those irritable, snappish little brass 
knockers which always flourish on inner doors; and if you 
chanced to be inside when the postman attacked it from with- 
out, the sharp percussion would well-nigh make your heart 
leap up to your mouth — only such a start is anatomically im- 
possible. We have hinted that the Striggses did all they could 
to render Miss Perkapple's visits agreeable; and they never 
made her more happy than when they announced to her their 
intention of taking her to the Gothics' Ball, which was a very 
gay ten-and-sixpenny affair at the Hanover- square Eooms, sub- 
ject to such proper regulations as kept its visitors in the sphere 
of its conductors. For, as Paris had its Longchamps, so has 
London — or recently had — its Gothics ; either being the fete of 



170 WILD OATS. 

intelligent costumiers to exhibit those dresses which they wish 
to render most popular in the ensuing season. 

The choosing of a wedding gown was not a matter of more 
difficulty than the choice of a costume was to Miss Perkapple 
when she decided to go. She wished to make a hit ; she felt it 
due to her literary reputation to do so ; albeit the Fogtliorpe 
Messenger was not extensively read in town. And first she 
thought of going as the Comic Muse, but there was nothing in 
the dress marked enough ; and she did not like the notion of 
being obliged to lean against a column, with a mask in her 
hand, all the evening, to support the character ; for, although 
there were two columns under the royal box well adapted for 
such a purpose, yet the attitude, however appropriate, might 
become monotonous after a time. So Thalia was discarded. 

Miss Perkapple next thought of Sappho ; but being some- 
what fluttered at a few traditionary stories respecting the fair 
Lesbian, she decided it would not be proper : more especially 
as the common world will not always look at things in an 
artistic spirit ; and as an artistic spirit, like charity, will cover 
any amount of impropriety, this is unfortunate. Then she 
thought of going poudree, after some of the sketches from the 
Queen's ball in the Illvstrated News ; but, although a white 
wig sets off a pretty fac<J, it is fearfully trying to even one of 
ordinary mould ; and spectacles of light blue tint don't im- 
prove the general effect. Her glass hinted this to Miss Perk- 
apple very mildly, and the powder was abjured. 

She ran over a variety of other costumes, including the cheap 
and popular one of the plaid scarf and Scotch bonnet, to typify 
any Highland lassie in general ; the favourite Plantagenet 
tunic of pink cotton velvet trimmed with white rabbit skin ; 
the Marquise, with the habit and whip. She knew that with a 
two-shilling tambourine an Esmeralda could be got up at a 
small expense, but her hair was not long enough to plait down 
her back ; it would only make two little horns, and she mis- 
trusted false tails. It would be so awkward if one was to 
come off! At last she remembered that her pinksatin dress 
might be turned to good account. It was a little passe to be 
sure, but deep flounces of black lace would hide its weak 
points, and she could go as a Spanish girl. She could also 
" support the character" — a conventional notion connected 
with fancy balls — with great effect ; and quote her own Spanish 
poetry. How very nice ! 



MISS PERX APPLE AND THE GOTHICS' BALL. 171 

tf he evening came at last, and Mr. Striggs, in tight red legs 
and pointed shoes ; and Mr. J. Striggs, as a white mousque- 
taire ; and Miss Striggs, after the Marie Antoinette of Madame 
Tussaud ; together with. Miss Perkapple, as the Cachucha, all 
got into a coach, followed by Mr. Spong, who paid attentions to 
Miss Striggs, and went all alone by himself in a Hansom's cab 
as a Crusader. "With, a beating heart she gave her ticket to 
the G-eorge the Second nobleman at the door, and they then 
went up-stairs and entered the room. 

" "What enchantment !" said Miss Striggs, as the gay scene 
broke upon them. " I scarcely know whether I am on my head 
or my heels." 

Miss Perkapple blushed deeply as she thought upon the 
terrible effect one of those positions might produce. But she 
replied, " How gorgeously brilliant! Don't speak to me." 

And hereon Miss Perkapple fell into a poetic reverie, and 
thought of something for the Fogthorpe Messenger, begin- 
ning 

" I pace the gay and glittering scene, 
And feel thou art not there ;" 

and then she ran over, mentally, " queen, green," " between, 
mien" — that was good — "my altered mien:" having got which 
rhyme, she proceeded to build the line up to it ? which i3 a safe 
plan in writing poetry — proceeding 

" And shudder at my altered mien ;" 

and was going. to finish with "and look of blank despair," 
when Mr. Striggs hoped she would stand up in a quadrille 

with him, just then forming. So she left the " Lines to " 

for a little while, and took her place. 

The programme of the evening's dances was printed on a 
card, with places to pencil down the engagements. Perhaps it 
carried out the name of the ball better than any other of its 
components ; for there were " Spanish dances," and " country 
dances," in the middle of the evening ; and "polka quadrilles," 
and a " Cellarius waltz," and other Terpsichorean vagaries, 
which savour more of the dancing academy than the drawing- 
room. And some of the company bowed to their partners, and 
to the corners, when they began ; and others, in the polka, did 
fandango figures, and launched into wild intricacies and atti- 



172 WILD OATS. 

tudes. But there were only two polkas down on the card ; for 
the Gothics preferred the good old steady quadrille. Their 
notions of the valse a deux temps were limited ; and the Post- 
horn Galop was beyond them altogether. One or two grace- 
less debardeurs, who had been used to faster things, expressed 
audible disapprobation at the arrangements. But when one of 
the stewards came up, and intimated his astonishment at their 
vulgarity, their discontent was soon knocked on the head, and 
the Gothics immediately looked on the debardeurs with much 
contempt — their notions of them being very indistinct, but 
rather tending to the belief that they were foreigners who had 
come in their shirt- sleeves. 

To the Spanish dance Miss Perkapple looked anxiously for- 
ward. She was always very great in it ; and as most old young 
ladies are indefatigable dancers, she calculated upon making an 
effect in her Cachucha costume ; and when Mr. Striggs intro- 
duced her to a Spanish nobleman, who she learned was Don 
Cesar de Bazan, a thrill passed through her frame. She took 
his arm, and they wandered down stairs for refreshment. 

" Have you travelled this last autumn ?" asked Miss Perk- 
apple, with her most insinuating tones. 

" I was from London two months," replied Don Cesar. 

" In sunny Spain ?" inquired the lady, softly, as she looked 
at the cavalier from his plumed hat to his boots. " Seville ?" 

" No ; Rosherville," answered the Don. 

Miss Perkapple, fortunately for her feelings, did not know 
where Eosherville was ; and she would not show that she was 
ignorant. So she played with her coffee, lifting spoonfuls out 
of her cup to bale thetn in again. 

" Your dress is charming," continued the lady ; " so tasteful, 
so exact ! Where did it come from ?" And Miss Perkapple 
concluded that the sun of Madrid had gleamed upon it. 

" It is from Nathan's," replied De Bazan. Miss Perkapple 
did not know in what department of Spain the locale was 
situated. " Tour costume is also most characteristic," con- 
tinued her companion, who had learned what it was from the 
pictures of Duvernay. 

" I am glad you like it," answered Miss Perkapple ; " a 
simple thing, but correct in detail." And she advanced her 
foot a little way beyond the lowest lace flounce. " But I adore 
everything Spanish — don't you ? Its eyes and mantiilas " 

" Its onions and liquorice," said the Don. 



MISS PEEKAPPLE A$D THE GOTHICS' BALL. 173 

" Playful fellow !" thought Miss Perkapple. " "What a nice 
sense of the ludicrous he possesses ! How cleverly he banters ! 
May I trouble you to put my cup down ?" she added, aloud. 

Don Cesar rose, and did as he was requested with infinite 
grace. Miss Perkapple was enchanted, and thought she had 
never before seen so efficient a stem for the tendrils of her 
young heart to cling to. His figure, his dark moustache, his 
air altogether, were perfect. " Can it be possible that I love 
again?" she thought. And then she sighed as she recollected 
the faithless editor of the Fogthorpe Messenger, who had printed 
all her poetry in the top left-hand corner of the last page, 
which he must have seen was addressed to himself; and all the 
time was courting the doctor's daughter, whom he ultimately 
married. 

The Spanish dance was performed, and Miss Perkapple's 
share in its mazes was unequalled. Nobody else could come 
up to the spirit of her attitudes ; she bounded forward in the 
true Andalusian fashion, and swung round her vis-a-vis, and 
beat audible time with her feet to call attention to them, and 
in the waltz poussette was especially great, turning her head 
alternately to the right and left as she went round ; in fact, as 
a coarse-minded Polka-nobleman observed, who was looking on, 
she was all legs and wings, like an untrussed chicken. But the 
anti-confidential style is that which old young ladies greatly 
incline to, and very different to the present acknowledged one ; 
which, we take to be, figures in tolerable approximation ; heads 
over each other's right shoulder ; your left arm extended well 
out from the side as the hand sustains your partner's right, 
and keeps it almost on a level with the top button of your 
waistcoat ; her left hand over your shoulder ; a well-kept short 
deux-temps step, and then — go ahead ! But the Gothics don't 
try that yet. 

Supper came ; and under the influence of the champagne, 
and lights, and feathers, and spangles, Miss Perkapple believed 
in all the fairy tales she had ever read ; and she established a 
great flirtation with Don Cesar de Bazan, who engaged him- 
self to her for all kinds of dances. Por she was entertaining 
in her conversation, and the Don was at the same time some- 
what overcome by her flattering speeches. And she introduced 
him to Miss Striggs, whilst she danced with the Crusader lover, 
and all went merry as a marriage-bell — if that announcement 
of the addition of two more victims to a popular delusion can 



174 WILD OATS. 

be considered so. But though she was anxious to get the Don 
to dance the last quadrille on the programme with her, she 
could not prevail on him to stay. He must go, he said ; he 
had business, great business of importance to transact before 
he retired to rest, and must tear himself away. Miss Perk- 
apple admired him more than ever ; what could he be ? An 
attache ? or perhaps a literary gentleman on a newspaper, and 
that a London one ! 

The time for parting arrived; and when Don Cesar bad 
wished her adieu, Miss Perkapple enjoyed the revelry no more. 
She went up to the royal box, and gazing on the festive triflers 
below, thought how fleeting was happiness, and quoted some of 
Medora's lines to herself, until tbe last dance on the card arrived 
— the British Navy Quadrille — and the Striggses prepared to 
depart. Shawls were recovered, coaches called, and, in the cold 
grey of morning, amidst a mob of early risers who were loitering 
round the door to watch the company out, they drove away. 
Miss Perkapple thought but of one subject — the partner of the 
evening ; and, with her eyes closed, pretended to be asleep as 
she conjured up his image before her. But she was aroused 
from her reverie by a laugh from Mr. Striggs, and a cheer in 
the streets, as if from boys, which somewhat startled her. 
Looking from the windows, a spectacle met her own pair that 
well-nigh brought on a fit of hysterics. They were in a West- 
end thoroughfare ; and there, in front of a shop — a common 
normal grocer's shop — was Don Cesar de Bazan, as he appeared 
an hour previously, taking down the shutters to the delight of 
a crowd of boys on the pavement, who were madly dancing 
about him. Some unprovoked assault upon his cloak caused 
him to turn sharply round as the hackney-coach passed, and 
Miss Perkapple saw that he had only one moustache! The 
other had been danced off in the last polka, and was now lying 
on the floor of the Hanover-square Rooms ; for he had trusted 
to composition instead of springs, which latter had set him so 
sneezing that he had well-nigh blown his head off before he 
came. As he turned, his eye caught Miss Perkapple's. De- 
spite the cold air of morning he blushed crimson, and shot the 
shutter he held down a grating under the window with a pre- 
cipitancy that looked as if he would have given worlds to have 
gone down after it ; after which he rushed into the shop and 
disappeared behind a monster coffee-grinder, but whether he 



MISS PEKKAPPLE AND THE GOTHICS' BALL. 175 

merely hid for the moment, or committed suicide by throwing 
himself into it, remained a mystery. 

The spell had been too rudely broken, and Miss Perkapple 
saw that the secret of his anxiety to " leave the halls of dazzling 
light" was fully explained. She suppressed the cry that rose to 
her lips as well as she was able, and pulling her shawl over her 
head, at the great peril of her Cachucha comb, and ther— shall we 
say it ! — and the back plait attached to it, was alone in her 
misery. For Mr. Striggs had kindly gone in the cab by 
himself to let Mr. Spong ride with the beloved object of his 
heart, and of course they were only occupied with one an- 
other ; and Mr. J. Striggs's white mousquetaire costume was 
too small for him, so that he had been in an ill temper all the 
evening, and scarcely spoke to anybody, and therefore our 
heroine felt as only old young ladies can feel under such cir- 
cumstances. 

The discovery was cruel ! Had she seen him reeling from 
the contiguous posada — it was a gin-shop in common language 
— followed by his brawling companions, it would have been 
something ; or, if he had attacked one of the bulls who were 
going by on their way to Smithfield, it would still have been in 
character ; despite the cold, she would have waved her hand- 
kerchief from the window in passing recognition. But shutters ! 
dreary things only used to close shops, and carry accidents of 
unromantic character upon: her very soul revolted from the 
association. To be sure, even that would have been nothing in 
Madrid; but in London that was quite another thing. [For 
the glamour of distance — both of time and space — that makes 
poetic temperaments conceive Swiss girls and vivandieres to be 
beautiful creations, and invests 'prentices of the middle ages 
with more ennobling attributes than those of the present time, 
had great sway over Miss Perkapple. 

The blow was never recovered. The next day Miss Perk- 
apple looked forlorn and deserted ; and when she did look so it 
was to a remarkable extent. Her friends put it down to 
fatigue : but she alone knew whence the chill upon her heart 
arose. London had lost all its charms for her ; the Cachucha 
dress became a souvenir of bygone happiness, as mad brides, in 
affecting stories, gaze upon the faded orange-blossoms that 
tell of brighter hours. She retired early to her room, and 
began some touching "Stanzas for Music," but her spirits 



176 WILD OATS. 

failed lier, and, after another immature attempt at " The Spirit 
"Weary : a Sonnet," she went to bed. 

The day after that she left London. Her visit had a marked 
effect upon her writings. It is said that no author is worth 
half-a-crown a page until he has been in love or difficulties ; 
and Miss Perkapple felt that for one bright evening in her 
life's gloom she had been the former. Hitherto she had, in 
the manner of her class, described hapless flirtations entirely 
from imagination — except that with the editor, which could 
scarcely be called one — creating her lovers on purpose to be 
deserted by them; but now her genius took a more decided 
turn. The Fogthorpe Messenger was, in consequence, a gainer 
thereby ; and the Spanish ballads became a great feature in its 
columns, for they told so plaintively of wretched hopes and hap- 
pier hours. Indeed, they are about to be collected for repub- 
lication, by subscription, with a preface by Miss Perkapple, 
stating that " many of her friends — in this instance, she fears, 
too partial ones — have urged her to the venture." But she is 
at present undecided as to whether they shall be dedicated to 
" The Spanish Legion" or " The Memory of the Past." 



( 177 ) 



XVII. 

SWEETS AND BITTERS. 
A BUFFO LTEIC. 

It is decreed that man should lead 

A life without alloy, 
But from its cup, the draught should sup, 

Of sorrow, mixed with joy. 
And though some pleasures may o'ernow, 

"Without a chance of pain, 
Too oft, alas ! a shade of woe 

"Will follow in their train. 
And should you question what we sing, 

And doubt our moral trite, 
Pray listen to the truths we bring, 

And own we're in the right. 

'Tis sweet into some fair one's ear 

Your tale of love to pour ; 
But rather awkward, when papa 

Is listening at the door. 
'Tis sweet to wander side by side, 

The bright moon to behold ; 
But not so pleasant, when you find 

Next day you've both caught cold. 
'Tis sweet to hear her lips confess 

That marriage is her plan ; 
But most distressing, when you find 

That you are not the man. 

'Tis sweet when some one sends a cheque 

For debts long given o'er ; 
But most annoying, when the bank 

Has failed the day before. 

N 



178 WILD OATS. 

: Tis sweet to get an Opera-box 

Tor nothing in the spring ; 
But not so pleasant, when you find 

Xo great artiste will sing. 
'Tis sweet when to America 

From bailiffs you take flight ; 
But not so pleasant, when you find 

The packet sailed last night. 

'Tis sweet to see the morning sun 

In all his radiance bright ; 
But not so pleasant, when it proves 

Tou have sat up all night. 
'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog bark- 

At least so Byron said — 
Sweet to be waken' d by the lark, 

And called up from your bed ; 
But not so pleasant, when the dog, 

Barks day and night as well ; 
Or when the lark's at your expense, 

As pulling off the bell. 

'Tis very sweet to some gay ball 

Receiving an invite ; 
But rather awkward, when you go, 

And find it's the wrong night. 
'Tis sweet to be pick'd out to take 

Some beauties to the play ; 
But very awkward, when you find 

That you have got to pay. 
'Tis sweet to buy some comic sheet, 

For lots of fun to look ; 
But very awkward, when you find 

'Tis not our little book. 



( 3L5T9 j 

XVIII. • 

THE POLKAPHOBIA. 

A LITTLE IfEWS OE ME. LEDEUEY GOHKSGZEB WITH THE 
POLEA, AT THE COMACEyCETJETTT OE THE TEAE 1814. 

It is now a little more than twelve months since we last 
heard any new3 of our old acquaintance Air. Titus Ledbury. 
ffia rriends will be glad to hear that during this interval 
he has been well and happy: that his manners and general 
bearing in ible, more elegant than ever ; and 

:aceful attitudes hare greatly distinguished him in the 
salons of the Transislingtonian districts. At the same time, his 
mind has lost nothing of its well-poised intentions ; albeit, as 
formerly, they do not altogether at times produce the exactly 
desired effect. But he is a good creature, and everybody is 
always happy to see him. 

course, Air. Ledbury was one of the first to learn the 
Polka. L:£r everybody else, as long as he could not dance it, 
he said it was very uninteresting, and would never keep its 
ground; but when he came to know it, he was most indo- 
mitable, and after supper, completely frenetique in its mazes, 
especially in the ' ; chasse" and the "back step," upon which 
he rather prided himself. He has been known, at this period 
of the evening,, to tire down three young ladies, and then ask 
to be introduced to a fourth — madly, wildly, desperately — even 
after she had confessed that she only knew it a little. And 
: do, when he saw there was no chance of the tune coming 
to a conclusion, by reason of the cornet and piano, having 
numbed their feelings with sherry, and played on mechanically, 
with the dogged action of a culprit who anticipates much eser- 
OK xn the treadm ill . It is a merciful dispensation that the 
cornet can be played with the eyes shut, in common with many 
other Terpsichorean instruments. If it could not, polkas and 
cotillons would gradually vanish from the face of the drawing- 
room, to the fiendish delight of those manchons de societe 
(muffs of society), who tell you that the aforesaid polkas and 
cotillons are M very strange kinds of dances, which they never 
wish their girls to join in/' 

a •: 



180 WILD OATS. 

Old Mr. Ledbury did not see much in the polka ; in fact, he 
had a dislike generally to what he termed " people kicking 
their heels about in outlandish fashions." But the instant 
Titus perceived that every one who wished to distinguish him- 
self in society must learn the polka — not to mention the Valse 
a deux temps and Cellarius, which he had scarcely courage 
enough yet to attempt — he determined to conquer its diffi- 
culties. And to this end, he joined a class at a professor's who 
taught polkas night and day ; in whose house the violin never 
stopped, in whose first-floor windows the blinds were never 
drawn up. The professor was connected with the ballet at the 
theatres, and he used to bring one or two of the " pets" of that 
department to be partners on the occasion — pretty little girls, 
with glossy braided hair and bright eyes, who tripped about in 
the morning in blue check polka cloaks, and in the evening in 
pink tights and gauze petticoats — sylphs that people paid 
money to see ; peris whom men in white neckcloths and private 
boxes had looked at through binocular glasses. "What hap- 
piness for Titus ! Under such tuition he improved rapidly. 
He went out everywhere, and polked all the evening ; at last, 
nothing could satisfy him but that his people must give a polka 
party themselves. There was a great deal to be said against 
this. Since his sister Emma's marriage, there had not been 
much gaiety at home ; and, besides, Emma had now a little 
baby, regarding whose appearance, in reply to Master "Walter 
Ledbury's too minute inquiries, the most remarkable horti- 
cultural stories connected with silver spades and the vegetation 
of parsley had been promulgated ; a tiny, fair, velvet-cheeked 
doll, in whose face everybody found a different likeness. The 
other little Ledbury girls were not old enough to be brought 
out, and Mrs. Ledbury said she could not take all the trouble 
upon herself: but there was a greater obstacle than all this to 
contend with. The family had left Islington at the expiration 
of their lease, and taken a new house somewhere on the out- 
skirts of the Eegent's Park, in a freshly-made colony, which 
cabmen never could find out, but wandered about for hours 
over rudely gravelled roads, without lamps and policemen, and 
between skeleton houses, until, at break of day, they found 
themselves somewhere infringing upon Primrose Hill, at an 
elevation of a considerable number of feet above the level of 
Lord's cricket-ground. And, moreover, there was a clause in 
the leases of these houses, that no dancing could be allowed 
therein, under heavy forfeits, which threw aspersions on their 



THE POLKAPHOBIA. 181 

stability. But architectural improvement is daily progressing ; 
and economy of time and material being the great desiderata in 
all arts and sciences, particular attention is paid to this point. 
Houses are run up, like Aladdin's palace, in one night ; and 
the same ingenuity that could formerly overspread Vauxhall 
Gardens with a single ham, is put into fresh requisition to see 
how many acres of building-ground may be covered with the 
same number of bricks that were employed, in times gone by, 
for one family mansion. 

All these facts were urged by Mr. Ledbury, senior ; but Titus 
did not give it up, for all that. He knew that his father was 
as insensible as a rock to his hints, but he also knew that the 
constant dropping of hints would at last have a softening 
effect ; and so it proved. He implored so earnestly, and im- 
pressed the fact so frequently upon his parents, that the land- 
lord need never know anything about it, as at last to get their 
consent. And then he struck the iron while it was hot. He 
bought some engraved invitation note-paper with " Polka" in 
the corner ; drew up a list of friends ; and, lastly, got his 
mother to ask Miss Seymour to come and stay with them for 
the time being. Eanny "Wilmer, his country friend, was also 
asked up from Clumpley, to which place the polka had not yet 
reached. Baby required all Emma's attention, and so she was 
left out of the question ; but her husband promised to come, 
and be Jack Johnson as heretofore, " by particular desire, and 
upon that occasion only." For having passed through that stage 
of feeling, during the time he was engaged, which rude people 
designate as " spooney," and the subsequent enchantment, after 
matrimony, during the premieres illusions — in both which 
states a man is not fit company for anybody except one — he 
was now returning once more, as is the invariable rule, to a 
capital fellow. 

The chief occupation of Titus before the ball was to teach 
Fanny "Wilmer the polka. And to this end they practised all 
day long, whilst Miss Seymour kindly played the Annen and 
the opera editions until her fingers were as weary as their feet. 
They did the promenade, and the waltz, and the return, and the 
double polka on the square, and the chasse, and the whirl, 
turning round so fast and leaning back to such a degree, that 
they resembled a revolving V made of two human figures, like 
an animated initial letter. All this practising, however, had 
its desired end. Fanny AVilmer learnt the polka, and Titus 
was so charmed at the effect he was certain they would produce 



182 WILD OATS. 

together, that he had some vague notion of putting on a pair of 
red morocco boots with brass heels, that would click together, 
expressly for the occasion. 

At last the night came. By dint of much previous instruc- 
tion, everybody found the way to the house pretty well, except 
old Mrs. Hoddle, who came in a fly all the way from Islington, 
not believing in cabs, and missing the proper road, got benighted 
in St. John's "Wood, which, in her imagination, she peopled 
with North American Indians, having some vague recollec- 
tions of an Ioway encampment thereabouts. Jack assisted 
Titus in his duties as master of the ceremonies, for he knew 
almost everybody there ; and then the festivities of the evening 
commenced. Old Mr. Ledbury gave himself up to his misery 
with great resignation. He intended, as heretofore, either to 
have visited a friend, or to have gone to bed ; but, in the first 
case, everybody he knew lived too far off ; and, in the second, 
his bedroom was turned out of window for the evening. The 
supper was laid in the dining-room, the door of which was 
locked ; and the ices and cherry -water were dispensed in the 
back parlour, which Titus, from the presence of a few grave 
volumes, and some loose numbers of periodicals, called his 
"study." 

They had a quadrille and then a waltz ; then a quadrille, then 
a polka, and so on. Mr. Ledbury greatly distinguished him- 
self, and was much admired. Nor was Jack Johnson less con- 
spicuous. He had not regularly learned the polka, but he said 
it was merely a diluted edition of a Quartier Latin dance, for 
which he had sometimes been compelled to leave the Chaumiere, 
and therefore he did not find it very difficult. 

Of course there was, and there always is, a large proportion 
of the guests who did not dance the polka ; but they stood 
round the room, and looked pleasant, which was all that was re- 
quired of them. Nor were they, in this capacity of wall-flowers, 
without their value, for spectators are useful things in a party 
to inspirit the others ; and the bare idea that you are doing 
something which somebody else cannot who is looking on, en- 
courages you to perform unexpected marvels of Terpsichorean 
agility. Some people call this vanity, others human nature. 
However, the enthusiasm spread, and every polka was more 
energetic than the last, until the room trembled again. 

It would have been well had this been the only sensation 
created. The servants had entered the dining-room, to make, 
the last preparations for supper, when a wild scene of horror 



THE POLKAPHOBIA. 183 

presented itself, unparalleled even in the annals of the Lisbon 
and G-uadaloupe earthquakes. T\ r ell might the landlord have 
prohibited dancing in his tenement. The ceiling had curved 
round, and was bulging into the room like an inverted arch, 
whilst, from its patera, the lamp was swinging recklessly, as 
though it had been an incense-burner in the hands of a priest. 
Ever j glass on the table, chattering its own music, was polking 
with its fellow, until it fell off the edge ; a Crusader, in black- 
leaded plaster, had chasse'd from his bracket, and was lying 
piecemeal on the carpet ; a bust of Shakspeare was nodding 
time to the tune as he prepared to follow its example; and 
there was not a barley-sugar ship or windmill which had not 
been jolted into fragments that left no trace of the original 
form. Well enough might the domestic supernumeraries en- 
gaged for the night have been scared. There was a momentary 
expectation of all the guests coming down to supper by a much 
quicker method than the staircase. 

Terrible and general was the alarm when the remarkable 
state of the architectural affairs was promulgated. There was 
only one person happy, and that was old Mr. Ledbury. As 
soon as he saw his guests were frightened, he rubbed his hands 
and smiled, and promulgated the intelligence that the floor was 
about to fall in, with the same glee as he would have done the 
news of a favourable change in the ministry, or a rise in the 
railway shares, of which he was a large participator. Titus, 
who was stopped in the middle of a distinguished step, turned 
pale ; Jack laughed ; and Mrs. Ledbury hurried all her visitors 
down stairs with the most nervous eagerness, which gave them 
a pretty broad hint that they were to bolt their supper and go 
away. They took it very speedily. 

This was Mr. Ledbury's first polka party, and his last. It 
certainly had created a sensation, but not the one he had antici- 
pated. He determined, if he danced the polka again, to do so 
at the residences of other people ; and old Mr. Ledbury, who 
got involved in a mild lawsuit in consequence, after many 
anathemas against outlandish dances and their followers, finally 
gravitated into a determination to leave his present abode, 
which never recovered its right angles ; and for the future, next 
to the polka, to abhor all houses run up to be let in suburban 
neighbourhoods, which were as picturesque and fragile as those 
of the illuminated village carried at evening on the head of the 
ingenious Italian in quiet neighbourhoods. 



( 134 ) 



XIX. 

THE STRUGGLES OF TERPSICHORE. 

"We have no very clear ideas respecting the comparative dif- 
ference between the worldly prospects of the Muses at the 
present day and in those remote times before the invention of 
clairvoyance, nerves, railways, printing, and Puseyism, when 
people believed in the mythology. Our best notions of the 
manner in which they passed their lives are collected from the 
drop-scenes of theatres and the ceilings of royal palaces. Prom 
these authorities we learn that they held a perpetual conversa- 
zione: some playing on remarkable instruments, the like of 
which are not recognised even by the directors of the Ancient 
Concerts ; others singing ; others dancing ; others reciting poetry 
or making speeches : but as all appear to be exhibiting at the 
same time, we opine that some degree of confusion must have 
characterised these reunions. As they had no listeners beyond 
themselves, and must have been perfectly acquainted with every- 
thing each other could do, the meetings in question must have 
been, without doubt, singularly " slow ;" as dull, in fact, as an 
amateur matinee musicale, or a set obligatory annual family 
dinner-party. 

We learn, however, one thing for certain from these pictures 
— the Muses were idle. There is nothing to show that they 
were going all through this display to earn a living. 

Eut now, in these days of utter mercantile materiality, things 
have altered, and the Muses are compelled to work — nay, 
struggle — for a livelihood ; they will do anything to avoid a 
union — we mean in the more modern acceptation of the word. 
Melpomene has had a hard fight for subsistence ; and, being 
harshly made to assume a spangled dress under all circum- 
stances, had thrown herself into the New Eiver Head, when 
she was charitably taken out by the Shakspeare Humane So- 
ciety, and carried into Sadler's Wells to be resuscitated. Thalia 
is a little better off, having married Momus, who is a man well 
to do, and so she allows her sister a trifle. Calliope travels 
w f ith, or for, a show, and is constantly employed ; and Euterpe 



THE STRUGGLES OF TERPSICHOEE. 185 

and Polyhymnia get good dividends from shares in the St. 
James's and St. Martin's Hall ; or, not being proud, oscillate 
between Exeter Hall and Evans's — whichever pays best for the 
time. Clio is proprietress of a pictorial newspaper, finding 
history will only go down in that style ; during the week she 
sells the catalogues at Madame Tussaud's. Erato picks up a 
precarious pound or two, now and then, by writing a libretto 
for an opera ; and Urania has found an asylum in the observa- 
tory at Kew, as long as the British Association will support 
her. But of all, Terpsichore has worked the hardest ; and to 
her fortunes a few years back we now turn. 

She had supported herself creditably, if not in first-rate style, 
for some time in England. The whirling, maddening waltz had 
triumphed over the stately minuet, and the first set and Lan- 
cers had mercilessly trampled down " Sir Roger de Coverley," 
when, all on " a wild March morning," in the year of grace one 
thousand eight hundred and forty-four, the Paris correspon- 
dent of the Times sent us word that a new dance was turn- 
ing the heads, bodies, and heels of our neighbours, to the utter 
exclusion of all other topics, and that it was called the " Polka." 
"We said, " Indeed !" and for a week thought no more about 
the matter ; until, at the expiration of that time, the epidemic 
broke out in England, all at once, like a Cremorne firework, 
which begins with a small blue flame — a mere hint — and then 
suddenly flashes and sparkles in every direction, twirling all 
ways at the same time. Yf hat this all led to everybody knows. 
Pamphlets, magazine-papers, farces, songs, caricatures, all took 
the " Polka" for their theme ; and then Terpsichore's run of 
luck commenced. Elderly people, whose dancing days ought 
to have been over a very long time indeed, were actually de- 
tected taking lessons : whilst young gentlemen, who did not 
yet know it, when they received invitations where the awful 
word appeared in the corner, " regretted a previous engage- 
ment compelled them to decline" the attention ; and then re- 
gistered a solemn vow upon their Gibus to learn the " Polka" 
forthwith. " Polka" academies of professors — rivals a Vou- 
trance — collected people to dance in the middle of the day, and 
afforded opportunities for all kinds of pleasant ante-prandial 
frock-coat-and-£are<7<? flirtations; columns of advertisements 
deployed over the pages of the newspapers ; and the " Polka" 
was even danced in public as a sight — a thing to pay money to 
see — from Carlotta and Cerito, in all the pride of beauty and 



186 WILD OATS. 

position, to their humble sister of the carrefours and race- 
courses, who demonstrated it upon a shutter, in the red serge 
tunic, trimmed with rabbit's fur, with leather boots plus ou 
moins rougeatres, and the rattling brass heels, and the tarnished 
finery of the anomalous petticoat, for whatever the drum and 
Pandsean pipes could collect in the invalided decanter- stand. 

These were great days for Terpsichore. She kept a carriage 
and drove in the Parks — that is to say, when she could find 
time. She visited the sea-side, and was even seen in Paris, 
after our season, floating about the Gardens of the Tuileries and 
Boulevards adjoining the Chaussee d'Antin, or beaming from 
the avantscenes of the Academie Eoyale. She forgot Graves- 
end, or affected never to have known that there was such a 
place, but spoke of "Wiesbaden. She had climbed the Alton 
Schloss, but repudiated "Windmill Hill. 

Knowing that it is far easier to establish luxuries hitherto 
unenjoyed than to put them down when once experienced, we 
somewhat trembled for her. We knew that the time would 
come, sooner or later, when everybody would have learned the 
" Polka :" when the simple, agreeable figure, alone now re- 
cognised, would supersede all the " promenades," the " chasses," 
and the toe-and-heel atrocities of the dancing academies and 
public balls : and we were right. The advertisements disap- 
peared from the papers one by one ; the matinees at the different 
rooms were discontinued. The terrible time had come, and 
everybody knew the " Polka!" 

"We were in a state of great uncertainty as to what our 
darling Muse would do next, when one evening we went to a 
party ; and there, in the middle of the entertainments, a tune 
of novel measure and harmony suddenly arose from the band, 
and two couples — there were no more — went off hopping, and 
diving, and sliding about the room in a sort of dislocated waltz. 
"We did not choose to demean ourselves by asking what it was 
that the guests suddenly crowded round to gaze at with such 
curiosity; but we soon heard that it was called the " Cellarius." 
"We saw immediately the cause of its introduction. Terpsi- 
chore meant it to keep up the dancing excitement of the public 
and her own income. But we formed our opinion at the time, 
and future experience only strengthened it : none of the couples 
ever danced the " Cellarius" as though they loved it. They 
went through it with the air of feudal tenants performing some 
grave ceremony, by which they held their situations ; or they 



THE STEUGG-LES OF TEEPSICHOEE. 187 

showed the bystanders that they desired no display, and yet felt 
that people were looking at them. There was none of the mad 
spirit of the waltz or polka in it. Xo silky perfumed curls 
ever swept across your very face ; no panting staccato words 
could be breathlessly flirted* into the delicate ear that almost 
touched the lips that uttered them, unnoticed by all but the 
one : there were none of those deliriously romping concussions, 
for which a smile or a laughing, gasping exclamation was the 

only punishment ; none of those Xever mind, we leave the 

other agremens to the imagination of the dancers. 

"Well, the " Cellarius," to speak in theatrical idiom, was 
comparatively a failure ; and so it was backed up by the Yalse 
a deux temps — a charming scuffling sort of exercise enough, 
but somewhat troublesome where only two desperate people 
danced it in a circle of two dozen, revolving on the old method. 
This, in its turn, was soon learned, and Terpsichore got despe- 
rate. What was to be done ? 

Again she flew to Paris ; but this time it was on a profes- 
sional errand — not on a pleasure-seeking sojourn. She in- 
sinuated herself into private society ; there was nothing there. 
She plunged into public balls — the " Chaumiere," " Mabille," 
and the " Prado d'Ete :" decidedly there was nothing there. 
The Eaubourg St. Germain and the Barriere du ]Mont Par- 
nasse. each failed : the Quartier Latin was no more available 
than the Eue Eoyale. She prdmulgated whispers of wonderful 
dances — the ;{ Mazurka," the " Erottesca," the " Xapolitaine." 
]S"o. In vain she told the readers of the Family Herald 
that these were danced by the highest circles in Paris. She 
did not appear to be believed. The carriage was put down for 
the hack cab ; and that only on wet days. Gravesend was 
again recognised ; Windmill Hill was not so despicable after 
all ; and she had heard of a contiguous wild and savage place 
called Eosherville, yet haunted by a few forgotten mortals who 
did not know the " Polka." She went there : it was a fall, to 
be sure, but what was she to do ? • 

At last came the Palace Costume Ball of 1845 ; and all the 
minuets that had slumbered for a century, like Sleeping Beau- 
ties, were awakened by the magic touch of royalty. Again 
Terpsichore's star was in the ascendant ; for those whose edu- 
cation had long since been pronounced complete, found they 
did not even know how to bow and curtsey with proper effect. 
Her spirits revived, and advertisements once more appeared; 



188 WILD OATS. 

but the minuets came as comets: they illumined a certain 
sphere for a time, and then passed away and were forgotten. 
In vain professors offered to teach what they assured the world 
would be the furore of the season : in vain the theatres kept up 
the plot, and Weippert, Collinet, and Musard programmed the 
music — the real identical royal music ! It was of no avail : 
Terpsichore found herself once more sunk to her former inac- 
tivity. 

"What she will do next we cannot tell. The civilised world has 
been pretty well ransacked for novel dances, which have proved 
failures ; so that all hope is at an end in those quarters of the 
globe. Japan, however, we believe to be open ; and there are 
yet Almees in the desert, according to Eelicien David, although 
I never saw any there, when I have crossed it. Whether any- 
thing new can be procured from these resources we know not. 
If there can, it will be all the better for Terpsichore : if there 
cannot, we recommend her to cultivate the friendship of the 
Hindoo JNautch girls ; from whose repertoire something may be 
brought out, without doubt very original, that may get up a 
sensation for an ensuing season. 



( 189 ) 



XX. 

A LEGENDARY CHARADE. 

MY FIKST. 

" Now lithe and listen, little page, 

And set the merlin down ; 
Thy "bonnet don, this message take, 
And bear it to the town. 

" For there are drums and clarions loud, 
And casques and pennons bright, 

And my sweetheart, Sir Galafred, 
Has come back from the fight. 

" Go, tell him, if he sees to-night 

A cresset on the keep, 
'Twill show him that my father's eyes 

Are closed in heavy sleep. 

" But if no light upon the wall 

He marks to guide his track, 
Then tell him not to come at all, 

But speedily turn back." 

The lady's page was not at all like those we meet in Kussell- 
square, 

"With rows of buttons, beaver hat, and shining face, and short- 
cut hair ; 

But wore long flowing chesnut curls, and velvet doublet — gold 
and green — 

In fact, just such a page as now is only in the coulisses seen. 

Alboni, in " The Huguenots," was like him, only not so slim, 

For, truth to tell, the great contralto would have made a score 
of him. 

Laughing-eyed and sunny-hearted, 
Off the little page departed ; 
But it was a summer's day, 
And he loitered on his wav. 



190 WILD OATS. 

Now lie lingered at the hostel, where the noisy troopers stayed, 
Listening to the fearful stories of the forays they had made. 
Next he met the miller's daughter, whom he chid despite her 

charms, 
For that she had thrown him over for some stalwart man-at- 
arms. 
But we know that lovers' tiffs amoris integratio est, 

So they very soon made friends, and never mind, we'll guess 

the rest. 
In this way so long he tarried, that the sun was sinking down, 
Gilding vanes, and roofs, and spires, when he reached the 
hustling town. 

Knights and squires, spear and bow men, 
Mail-clad guards and jerkined yeomen, 
Minstrels clothed in Lincoln green, 
Damsels decked in kirtle sheen, 
So confused the little page, 
Did his young eyes so engage, 
That he quite forgot his charge, and told Sir G-alafred to come 
If he saw no watchlight gleaming from the lady's castled home. 



MY SECOND. 

Hesperus ! thou bringest all good things 
Home to the weary : dinner's dainty cheer, 

Or, in the house where stout Alboni sings, 

The welcome stall to him who lists to hear. 
"Whate'er of mirth about our circle clings, 

"Whate'er our deux-temps waltzers hold most dear, 
Are gathered round us at thy genial hour : 
Thou bring'st the knight, too, to the lady's bower. 

Perchance you think you've heard all this before, 
Or something very like it ? Never mind, 

Ideas are not so teeming as of yore, 
So be unto the theft a little kind. 

1 was about to say that day was o'er, 
And not one ray of sunset left behind, 

"When brave Sir Galafred, to her amazement, 
Just showed his face outside the lady's casement. 



A LEGENDARY CHAEADE. 191 

Quick and startled was the greeting 
At this unexpected meeting. 
" Ely !" she cried, " ere they have caught you ! 
What sad chance has hither brought you?" 
" Grive me one," the knight replied. 
" JSTo — pray go !" the lady sighed. 
" Only one !" was still his prayer, 
As a voice cried, " Who goes there?" 
" Never mind the risk, 
I'll brave it : 
One is all I ask I" 
She gave it. 



MT WHOLE. 

The fields in sunny Normandy were in proud England hands, 
And Cherbourg bold and Harfleur old were smoking from her 

brands, 
And Caen had given up her stores — plate, gems, and velvet fine, 
And Tancarville was sent in strange captivity to pine. 
By smouldering homes the course was shown of Edward's armed 

might, 
Until, on Cressy's green hill-side, they halted for the fight ; 
And there, before the set of sun, they made a bloody fray, 
That few were they who 'scaped to tell the fortunes of that day. 

King Edward from a windmill saw the chances of the field, 
And how his son, by numbers pressed, had got good cause to 

yield; 
But when they sent a messenger to beg his instant aid, 
The king still kept back his reserve, and this was all he said : 
" Go, tell my son, to him be all the honour of the fight, 
And bid him win his golden spurs* and wear them as a knight, 
So that his name be known to fame in future songs and tales, 
And bards shall praise my noble boy, young Edward, Prince of 

Wales!" 

Then forth the mighty engines burst, outpouring death and fire, 
And first on battle-field was felt the angry cannon's ire. 
The lady's father marked its force, and when the fight was o'er, 
He pondered much upon its use, and then an oath he swore, 



192 WILD OATS. 

That once again on English ground he would no pleasure take 
Until such arms, of lighter form, his armourer should make, 
By which he might in better plight his castle watch and ward, 
And from all flight with lover light his gentle daughter guard. 

And thus was made the demi-haque, and arquebus-a-croc, 
The musquet, haquebut, caliver, snap-haunce, and tricker-lock, 
The hand-gun, fusil, carabine, wheel-lock, and esclopette, 
And one from which Sir Galafred his death had well-nigh met ; 
For, blazing from an embrasure, as 'cross the chase he fled, 
A shower of bullets rattled through the branches o'er his head 
But he escaped to come again, and this time all was right, 
Since, when he left, his lady-love was partner in his flight. 



( 193 ) 



XXI. 

LORD MAYOR'S DAY. 

I do not remember to have met with a matter-of-fact de- 
scription of Lord Mayor's Day. Some years ago, the late Mr. 
Theodore Hook published a famous story called " The Splendid 
Annual," in which he depicted, as he only could have done it, 
the glory of the Lord Mayor when he took possession of his 
office, and the grandeur thereunto attached, ending with a 
capital account of the indignities he endured when he sank the 
mayor in the citizen at the conclusion of his reign. Every 
year the papers come out with long lists of the viands provided 
upon the occasion ; the quantity of tureens of turtle, " each 
containing three pints;" the number of dishes of potatoes, 
"mashed and otherwise;" the bottles of " sherbet," which I 
take to be the Guildhall for "punch ;" the plates of biscuits, 
and the removes of game ; enough in themselves to have 
emptied all the West India ships, Irish fields, Botolph-lane 
warehouses, ovens, preserves, and shops generally, ever known 
or recognised. And they also tell us how the Lord Mayor 
went, and how he came back ; how he was joined, on his return 
at the Obelisk in Fleet-street, by all the noble and distin- 
guished personages invited to the banquet at Guildhall ; and 
what were the speeches given. But they omit the common- 
place details ; and as this is something that is sought after, 
now-a-days, whether it relates to a visit to a pin-manufactory, a 
day in a coal-mine, or a dinner in the City, I venture to give a 
report : and I beg to state that this is intended more for the 
amusement of my friends in quiet country nooks and corners 
— who hear occasionally by a third day's paper of what is 
going on in our great world of London — than for those who 
know City dinners by heart, and can look back through a long 
vista of many years at the sparkling splendour of Guildhall, as 
on our retreat from Vauxhall we used to cast a glance at the 
Neptune at the end of the walk, ever spouting out amidst his 
jets and glories. 

o 



194 WILD OATS. 

My earliest recollections of Lord Mayor's Day are con- 
nected with my scholarship at Merchant Taylors'. The school 
was once called " Merchant Tailors' ;" but I remember, 
when instruction in writing was first introduced there, and 
we had copies to do, with the name of the establishment 
as our motto, that our esteemed head-master, " Bellamy" 
(for "Eeverend" or "Mr." were terms alike unknown to us), 
altered the orthography. " How will you have ' Tailors' spelt, 
sir?" asked Mr. Clarke, who had come from the Blue-Coat 
School (if I remember aright) to teach us our pothooks and 
hangers. "With ay, most certainly," was the answer of the 
"Jack Gull;" for Bellamy (that I should live to write his 
name thus lightly, and so treat him without fear of an imposi- 
tion ! but he was a goodly creature and a great scholar, and 
will forgive me) had his name inscribed over the door of the 
schoolroom as " Jac. Gul. Bellamy, B.D., Archididascalo" and 
from this abbreviation he took his cognomen amongst the boys. 
And so, we did not mind being called "snips" by opposing 
schools (and, mind you, we had great fights with Mercers' and 
St. Paul's thereanent, and pitched battles in Little St. Thomas 
Apostle and Great Knight -Eider- street), but we stuck to 
the y, and henceforth believed greatly in our school, and its 
motto : " Parva res concordia crescunt" although ribald minds 
still told us that its true translation was, " Nine tailors make a 
man." 

But I humbly beg pardon : all this time I am forgetting Lord 
Mayor's Day. It was to me a great holiday. I had some kind 
friends in Bridge- street, Blackfiiars, who always invited me, on 
that festival, to join their party ; and from their windows, over 
the little court that runs from the above-named thoroughfare 
into Bride-lane, I first beheld the pageant. I look back upon 
those meetings now with very great pleasure ; enough, I hope, 
to excuse my dilating upon them in these few lines. None of 
the parties which, as a floating literary man upon town, I have 
since been thrown up with, have ever equalled them in un- 
strained fun and honest welcome. I can recal vividly the 
crowd in the street ; the only parallel to which I ever saw was 
from the roof of Newgate previous to an execution ; for a mob 
is not particular as to the object of its assembling. The visi- 
tors, and above all the girls, at the windows above ; the laugh- 
ter that the pieman caused when he was pushed about by the 
crowd ; the hard time the applewoman had of it when she un- 



loed mayor's day. 195 

advisedly ventured into the middle of the street, with the perti- 
nacity of a half-price pit fruit-vendor ; the impudent boy who 
had got on the lamp-post, and actually made faces at the police- 
mau, knowing that he was beyond his power; the fortunate 
people, having possession of the door-step, looked down upon 
their fellows : and, above all, the lucky mob, whom it was the 
fashion in after times, before the misery of Europe put them 
at a discount, to call "the people," who had carried the obelisk 
by storm, and perched themselves upon every available ledge, — 
all these things, I say, I can recal, and wish I could look at 
them again with the same feelings of fresh enjoyment, before it 
was so constantly dunned, and hammered, and insisted on, and 
bawled into my ears that "purpose" was the end of all obser- 
vation. 

Well, the crowd jostled, and swayed, and quarrelled, and 
chaffed, and at last the procession started from the bridge. Its 
commencement was difficult to determine. You saw a flag 
waving about amidst an ocean of hats, and an active gentleman 
on horseback riding backwards and forwards to clear the way. 
Then the flag stopped, until more flags came up — from where 
goodness only knows — and waved about also. Then the sound 
of a distant band was heard, only the bass notes falling on the 
ear in that unsatisfactory strain that reaches you when a brass 
band is in the next street ; and at last there did appear to be 
an actual movement. Large banners, that nearly blew the men 
over, preceded watermen, and " companies," and all sorts of 
bands played various tunes as they passed under the windows, 
until they were lost up Ludgate-hill, until at length came the 
" ancient knights." They were the lions of the show. I had 
long wondered at them from their " effigies" in a moving toy I 
had of the Lord Mayor's Show, which my good father had made 
for me when quite a little boy; and henceforth they were 
always the chief attraction. I can now picture their Tery style 
of armour, their scale surtouts and awe-inspiring helmets, 
which reckless spirits have since called brass "blancmange 
moulds ;" the difficulty they had to sit upright ; the impossi- 
bility it would have been for them to have stood a course, " in 
the name of Heaven, our Lady, and St. George," in lists. But 
they were very fine. And then came the carriages, so like 
other toys I bought at the fair, in a long box, where the coach- 
man had a curly goose's feather in his hat, and the horses 
dazzled with Dutch metal; then came other bands, and the 

o 2 



196 WILD OATS. 

huzzas, and the mob again. It was all very delightful; and 
nothing ever moved me so much, not even the procession in 
The Jewess, when I first saw it. And it was very proper too. 
]Now I am writing this very paper in the depths of the country. 
A wood fire is flashing upon the wainscot panels of my vast 
bedroom, which are crackling, from time to time, with its heat. 
The air without is nipping, and frosty, and dead still. A fine 
old hound, who has chosen to domicile himself with me for the 
night, is lying on the rug, like a dead hare, dreaming fitfully of 
bygone chases ; and nothing is heard but the wheezing turret- 
clock, that sounds as if it had not been oiled since the Befor- 
mation. It is impossible to conceive anything more opposite 
to a sympathy with civic festivity than this picture ; but yet I 
look back to New Bridge-street and Lord Mayor's Day with 
the greatest gratification. I do not call the pageant " slow" or 
absurd. I only think if the spirit that would suppress it, with 
our other institutions, had been allowed to run wilful riot 
abroad, where would our homes and hearths have been at pre- 
sent ? "What would the marchands of Paris, from the Chaussee 
d' Antin to the Quartier Latin, not give to see any of their fes^ 
tivals of the middle ages progressing in the same unaltered, 
steady- going fashion as our own " Lord Mayor's Show ?" 

The procession over, I cared not what became of its consti- 
tuents ; and it was not until a few years ago that I ever had the 
chance of dining at Guildhall, and seeing what became of the 
principal part of them. 

The ticket I received was wonderfully imposing ; a whole 
sheet of Bristol board had apparently been used in its con- 
struction ; and it was accompanied by a plan of all the plates 
at the table, my own being painted red, so that I knew at once 
where I was to sit. It did not say at what time the dinner 
would be ready, but informed me that nobody would be 
admitted after a certain hour ; so that, from some hazy recol- 
lection of the procession taking in its distinguished guests at 
the obelisk about three o'clock, I thought four would be a 
proper hour to arrive at Guildhall. The ride thither was by 
no means the least striking part of the day's excitement. From 
Ludgate-hill to Gresham- street my cab ploughed its course 
through the densest mob of people I ever saw; and as they 
were all in the way, and had to be " Hi'd !" and sworn at, and 
policed therefrom, I do not believe any one ever received so 
many epithets, more or less complimentary, in half an hour, as 



197 

I did during that time. The windows were alive with heads — 
where the bodies thereunto belonging were crammed was im- 
possible to guess — and not only the windows, but the balconies 
and copings, the tops of shop-fronts and parapets, were equally 
peopled ; and this continued all the way to the doors of G-uild- 
hall, where my ticket and hat were delivered up, and I entered 
the Hall. 

The effect upon entering was very beautiful. The long lines 
of tables, sparkling with glass and plate, were striking in them- 
selves; but they were comparatively nothing. The noble 
building itself, with its picturesque architecture outlined by 
dazzling gas jets ; the brilliant star at the western window, 
and the enormous Prince of "Wales's feather of spun glass, at 
the eastern, surmounting the trophy of armour ; the helmets, 
banners, and breastplates hung round ; the men-at-arms on 
their pedestals, in bright harness ; the barons of beef on their 
pulpits ; and, above all, G-og and Magog gazing, as they had 
gazed for centuries, on the banquet, carrying fearfully spiked 
weapons, which now-a-days nobody but Mr. W. H. Payne is 
allowed to use — and he only in a pantomime ; all this formed a 
tableau really exciting : and, distant matters being considered, 
made one think there was no national conceit in the pride and 
glory of being an Englishman after all. 

Prom the Hall the majority of the guests went on to the 
Council Chamber, where the presentations were to take place ; 
and here there was amusement enough to be found in watching 
the toilets of the company. The gentlemen in their court- 
dresses and coloured gowns, were well enough : there was a 
grave municipal appearance about them that set off the scene 
wonderfully, nor could it have been possible to have seen so 
many good old honest intelligent heads together anywhere 
else. But we must run the risk of being considered for ever 
ungallant in saying that the dress of the ladies, with few ex- 
ceptions, was in itself worth going to see. Their costumes 
were not poor— on the contrary, they were as magnificent as 
Genoa, Lyons, and Mechlin could make them. Neither were 
they old-fashioned : such would not have been altogether out 
of keeping. But they were singularly comical ; the most hete- 
rogeneous colours, styles, and trimmings were all jumbled toge- 
ther : and the wonderful combinations of manufactures they 
wore in, and on, and round their heads, would require a list as 
long as the Morning Post's after a drawing-room to describe. 



198 WILD OATS. 

Caricatures of the coiffures of all the early Queens of France 
and England might have been detected, by a sharp eye, amongst 
the company ; nay, one old lady had made up so carefully after 
Henry VIII., that, with whiskers and beard, she would have 
been wonderful. A large proportion had a great notion of a 
fluffy little feather stuck on the left side of their heads ; and 
all preferred curls to bands when sucli were practicable — and 
curls of elaborate and unwonted nature and expanse. Amongst 
them, to be sure, were some lovely girls who would have put 
the "West-end belles upon their mettle — faultless in dress and 
tournure as a presentation beauty — but they were overwhelmed 
by the dowagers. 

There did not appear to be much to be seen here, for it was 
impossible to get near the dais, so I went back to the Hall, to 
my place at the table, and learnt, to my sorrow, that dinner 
would not take place before seven. But there was plenty to be 
amused at as the more distinguished guests arrived, and passed 
on to the Council Chamber through an avenue of gazers, 
being announced by name as they entered. This name, how- 
ever, it was impossible to catch ; every one, from the size of the 
place, ended in unintelligible reverberations. So that from "Lord 
Or-r-r-r!" "Mr. Baron Pr-r-r-r !" or "Captain Uls-s-s-s!" 
you made out what you conceived to be the most probable, and 
were contented accordingly. From time to time a brass band 
in the gallery played selections from operas ; hungry gentlemen 
looked wistfully at the cold capons ; and frantic officials, with 
white wands, ran about with messages and ordered the waiters. 
For myself, I confess to having settled quietly down on my 
form, and made myself as perfectly happy with my French roll 
and some excellent Madeira as any one could possibly have de- 
sired. 

At length some trumpets announced the approach of the 
Lord Mayor ; and his procession, including my dear old friend 
of childhood, with the large flower-pot-shaped muff upon his 
head, entered the Hall to a grand march. They came in long 
array down the steps, then round the end below Gog and 
MagOg, along the southern side, and so up to their tables. 
This was really impressive ; and, as the civic authorities, the 
judges, and Serjeants, the trumpeters, and all the rest, marched 
round, one was tempted to think much more of Dick "Whit- 
tington, and Sir William "Walworth, Evil May Day, the Con- 
duit in Chepe, together with Stow, Strutt, Holinshed, and 



lord mayor's day. 199 

Eitzstephen, than the present good Lord Mayor of London, 
and all the municipal, military, naval, and forensic celebrities 
that accompanied him, to the tune of " Oh, the roast beef of 
old England !" played in the gallery. 

Our good friend Mr. Harker — without whom I opine all 
public dinners would go for nothing, and the Old Bailey Court 
become a bear-garden — gave the signal for grace, the tureens 
having already appeared upon the tables during the cortege ; 
and then what a warfare of glasa and crockery, of knives and 
forks and spoons, and calipash and calipee began ! The hapless 
guests by the tureens had a hard time of it in supplying their 
fellow visitors ; and the rule for politeness in the " Book of 
Etiquette" which says "it is bad taste to partake twice of 
soup," had evidently never "been learnt; for they partook not 
only twice, but three times, and would, doubtless, have gone 
on again but for the entire consumption of the delicacy. Eor 
the vast number of people present it was astonishing, by the 
way, how well everybody was attended to. The waiters ran 
over one another less than they usually do at great dinners ; 
they recollected w r hen you asked for a fork, and brought you 
one ; and if it had not been for their clattering down all the 
plates and dishes against your heels under your form, the 
arrangements would have been perfect. 

At the head of our table was the most glorious old gentle- 
man I had ever seen. "Whether Earringdon Without or Broad- 
street claimed him as its own I do not know, for the wards were 
divided at the table ; but whichever it was had a right to be 
proud of him. He knew everybody, and all treated him with 
the greatest respect. He was a wit, too, and made some very 
fair puns ; besides which, by his continued pleasantries, he 
kept the whole table alive. He took wine with all whom he 
saw were strangers, and offered them his snuff-box with a merry 
speech. He was the best mixture of the fine old courtier and 
common councilman it was possible to conceive, and my ad- 
miration of his good fellowship was increased, when I was 
told that he was actually eighty-two years of age ! I should 
like to have had some quiet talk with that old gentleman. He 
must have known many youths, barely living on their modest 
salary, who afterwards rode in their own carriages in the Lord 
Mayor's procession — perhaps as chief actors. He could, I will 
be bound, have told us stories of the riots of '80, w r hen he 
was a mere boy ; and of the banquet given to the allied sove- 



200 WILD OATS. 

reigns in that very old Guildhall, a score and half of years 
afterwards. But he left our table early, and when he went, 
and told us all that he was going home to put on his slippers 
and have a cigar, we were really grieved to part with him, and 
could have better spared the tetchy gentleman near him, who 
did nothing but squabble with the waiters and threaten to 
report them. 

The dinner was despatched — the cold turkeys, and hams, and 
tongues, and the tolerably hot pheasants and partridges — in 
less time than might be conceived. There was no lack of any- 
thing. The punch was unexceptionable, the Madeira of the 
choicest, and the champagne unlimited. And after all this, a 
bevy of pretty young ladies, with an equal number of gentle- 
men, appeared in the south music gallery to sing the grace, 
which they did very well. The visitors evidently knew their 
business. They did not applaud, when the grace was over, in 
the manner of some reckless and enthusiastic spirits fresh at 
a public dinner, who look upon it as they would do upon a 
Cider Cellars chorus, but received it gravely, filled their glasses, 
and waited for what was to come next. Then the trumpets 
sounded, and were answered from the other end of the Hall, and 
the new Lord Mayor rose and proposed " The Queen." And 
if her Majesty could have heard how that toast was received, 
with an enthusiasm that made the very men-in-armour totter 
on their pedestals, and G-og and Magog almost invisible through 
the haze of excitement, she would have known that the expres- 
sion of her belief in the allegiance of her good old City of 
London, with which she was accustomed to respond to ad- 
dresses, were beyond the conventional, after all. 

The remaining toasts could only be heard by those at the 
principal table ; but when the ladies left, the gentlemen went 
up, and stood about on the forms and benches to see and hear 
the "great guns" of the evening. Afterwards tea and coffee 
were served in a long room to the right of the Council Chamber, 
and then dancing began in the latter apartment, until the part 
of the Hall above the railing was cleared for the same purpose. 
During this period the company had an opportunity of seeing 
two very clever pieces of scenic view which were displayed, to 
be looked at through windows, on what might possibly otherwise 
have been a blank wall. These were modelled representations of 
the Tower, and the Eialto at Venice. They had a charming effect; 



201 

the sober light and air of tranquillity thrown over them being 
in excellent contrast with the noise and brilliancy of what was 
in reality "the hall of dazzling light," usually treated as a 
poetic and, perhaps, apocryphal piece of festivity inseparable 
from striking a light guitar, 

The dancing was famously kept up, " with unabated spirit," 
as newspapers say of a ball. To be sure, the more refined 
Terpsichorean nerves were occasionally shocked by hearing sub- 
dued wishes for " The Caledonians." The majority, too, pre- 
ferred the polka to the waltz, and mistrusted themselves in the 
deux temps. But they were evidently very happy, and believed 
greatly in everything about them, and if we could always do the 
same in society we should have little to grumble at. At last, 
not choosing to let the world generally know at what hour my 
faithful latch-key put me in possession of that most inestimable 
property, one's own bedroom, I slipped off, and arrived at home 
with calm propriety, filled with gratitude to the Lord Mayor, 
the sheriffs, and the corporation generally, for a very hospitable 
(and, to me, a very novel) entertainment. 



( 202 ) 



XXII. 

A STREET SKETCH. 
(July 9, 1851.) 

Oobay-y-y-y-y-y-y ! ! ! Bang ! Here she comes, Bill ! 
Ooray-y-y-y-y-y III' Bang - dang - dang - dang ! Now then, 
Missus, one way or the other ! Bang-dang ! Bang-dang-dang ! 
Ooray-y-y-y-y-y-y ! ! Bang-dang-bang-kling-klang ! Bang ! 
Bang ! ! Bang ! ! ! "Where are you a shovin' me under the 
'orses 'eels ? Hur-ray-y-y-y-y-y ! ! ! 

God save the Queen! It is long after midnight, but the 
streets are alive with life ; and the mighty stream eddies round 
the horse soldiers on guard, and nearly hurries the policeman 
on its current. The gas stars light up the road like day, and 
flash on the breastplates and helmets ; the people are taking 
early places on the kerbs ; the boys have appropriated to them- 
selves all the churchyard railings, and building hordes, and 
mountains of wooden pavement on the line; the heavy Life 
Guard chargers are moving their hoofs about as daintily as 
though they imagined that a lady's little foot was likely to be 
under all of them ; and with renewed hurrahs, and bell clanging, 
and distant guns, and braying trumpets, through Temple-bar, 
which appears, from the Strand, to be the portal of a temporary 
city of light and banners, on comes the Queen ! 

They have held high festival at Guildhall to-night, and the 
riches of our mighty city have flown right and left to do honour 
to her Majesty. But we would not have given much to have 
seen her there, otherwise than as the chief personage in a grand 
mob. It is here — at midnight, in the streets amongst her 
people — that we feel our heart rising into our eyes as we watch 
her progress and hurrah with the best of them. 

Look at her, European democrats, and republicans, and 
liberators, and patriots, and all other names of restless scamps 
who bawl about " freedom" and " light ;" and, having nothing 
to lose, plunge your countries into bloodshed and misery before 



A STKEET SKETCH. 203 

you scramble off to England, in which you ought to arrive, if 
practicable, at a cart's tail. Look at that young woman, so 
honoured, and so secure in the honest affections of her people, 
that although her guard is as nothing compared to the crowds 
in the streets, she sits there as calmly as if she were in her own 
room in "Windsor Castle. Dare but even to scowl at her, and 
you shall be yelled and chevied along the causeway like curs on 
a race-course. Look at her smiling face as she passes, and the 
roar of enthusiastic recognition becomes louder and more con- 
tinuous until she can scarcely acknowledge it. And then look 
at all those good folks who are cheering and crushing round her 
carriage in thousands. They have no secret police or spies after 
them except the clever detectives ; they do not know what domi- 
ciliary visits are ; they have never been " disarmed ;" they may 
all make gunpowder in their outhouses, or cartridges in their 
back kitchens, all the week long if they please ; they have no 
passports, they can leave England when they like, and return 
at their pleasure ; if they had common sporting permission, 
they might all have carried double-barrelled guns and cutlasses 
about the streets all night for their own diversion ; and yet the 
Queen is safer among them than she would be in the centre of 
a belt of bristling bayonets and artillery ! The cortege goes on, 
and the public once more take entire possession of the streets 
to stare at the illuminations. What a festival it is ! Every- 
body seems to have a party to-night in every room of the house. 
"We never saw so many decanters as are visible through the 
first-floor windows ; and there is Master Brown, who would 
light up the V. E. himself from the window, in broad daylight, 
so excited and anxious was he, and has sat behind it ever since, 
to show his connexion with the spectacle, and will not go to 
bed until the last wick has expired in the smell ; and there 
is Jones and Bunting, who have taken advantage of their 
neighbour's gas star, and hung a flag from their second floor, 
which catches all the light therefrom, and makes a great 
effect at a cheap rate, whilst their neighbour, whose banner is 
obscured by its own shade, like the clock at the "White Horse 
Cellar, achieves small triumph. Why, there is a very old friend 
— to be sure it is— in the shape of a transparency. We can 
scarcely call to mind when we first saw that, but it is some 
time ago. It is what is called an " allegory," a sort of thing 
you see in the frontispieces to old magazines and encyclopaedias, 
and on the ceilings of Hampton Court, which nobody can make 



204 WILD OATS. 

out, or, if they can, don't care about. Here we have the Queen 
in a large scallop shell, riding on the sea, drawn by dolphins, 
with a lion at her feet, and girls, with great display of shoulders, 
swimming about her ; and Neptune getting bang in her way, 
with large calves, and deltoide muscles, offering her a trident. 
By the way, why are calves and deltoides always larger in alle- 
gories than anything else? Now all this is very absurd. 
Heaven forfend that her Majesty should trust herself with a 
lion in a scallop-shell, and go to sea. "We question, indeed, 
whether any persuasion would make her do so, so long as she 
had her own steamer — especially to be drawn by dolphins — 
quite out of the water of course. "We know the instant fish 
get out of their element what freaks they indulge in, and we 
should mistrust the dolphins. No — no; it is all nonsense ; we 
prefer the reality of the clown in the washing-tub drawn by 
ducks, and this is all that it reminds us of. 

Half-past one ! The crowd still keeps streaming on ; and we 
go with it. But the illuminations become rather monotonous. 
The incentive genius of the folks in this line never gets beyond 
a Y, an A, a star, and a crown ; and these wear on repetition. 
The "lampions" of the Continent are beyond all comparison 
more effective in their ensemble — those pretty, many-coloured 
globes with which they festoon the streets and cover the houses. 
One naked gas star over the shop of a dingy brick house is 
certainly worse than nothing ; it puts one in mind of a dirty 
man in corduroys with a diamond brooch on. 

Ey degrees the crowd thins and the lamps go out, Temple 
Ear, so gorgeous an hour ago, looks as ragged as a moulting 
parrot ; and the people who sat up all the evening at the ad- 
joining windows to look at it, have gone to bed. The wind is 
getting up, and the gas stars in and out, the lights and shadows 
flying about them as on a corn-field. Sometimes the E becomes 
a P, and then an I, and then a small d ; and the fading devices of 
the variegated lamps assume unintelligible patterns, like the 
cards of a Jacquard loom, or a constellation without its picture. 
And now, right away to the east, a glimmer of grey light steals 
upwards, and the tops of the houses, hitherto hidden by the 
glare below, begin to show their outlines against the sky. 

The mob is gone ; the soldiers have gone ; the policemen even 
have gone, except the ordinary numbered letters of the dis- 
trict ; and the great heart of London begins to beat tranquilly 
once more, soothed by the pure air of morning. And now 



A STKEET SKETCH. 205 

another procession begins along the line of the Koyal progress. 
Waggons of cabbages and vans of flowers come toiling on to 
Covent-garden ; and the Essex labourer whips his team uncon- 
cernedly along the streets, where none but the wheels of Ma- 
jesty were permitted to revolve a few hours ago, and stares 
with stupid wonder at the dying illuminations. 

What a chance for a writer of large sympathies and great 
purpose that Essex clodhopper affords ! How he could be ad- 
vantageously compared in his stalwart health to the pampered 
children of empty state who rode in their tinsel ana! spangles 
along the same route two hours ago ! How his utility in the 
great scale of creation could be weighed in sonorous words 
against that of the idle courtiers who preceded him ! Stuff and 
nonsense ! we have seen a swell thrash a snob into fits, and with 
the greatest pleasure ; and, as far as the utility line goes, we 
wager, if the Essex clodhopper was subjected to a rigorous ex- 
amination, it might turn out that packing cabbages and driving 
a team was all he was fit for, or capable of achieving. 

Still he is useful in his way, and so are the swells, and so let 
us hope we all are. And it has been a very pleasant day, and 
thousands of people have appeared very happy, and we all seem 
very flourishing and comfortable generally, and don't envy any- 
body, and are very proud, prouder than ever, of England and 
our Queen j and so, God bless us all ! 



( 206 ) 



XXIII. 

THE FAIRY WEDDING. 

Once upon a time, all the rich Chertsey meadows, which lie 
between the Abbey River and Laleham Ferry on the Thames, 
formed a large plain. Old Master Goring, who was a hundred 
years old the day King "William the Fourth opened Staines 
Bridge — on which occasion he had the honour of being pre- 
sented to his Majesty — once told me that he could remember 
when any one could look right away from the Thames to "Net- 
tlebury Hole, standing on the Laleham Burway, without a 
hedge or plantation to cut the view. And there was not such 
a range of grass all about the country ; insomuch that the above 
venerable gentleman, who proved in himself that " the oldest 
inhabitant" was not the myth he was popularly supposed to be, 
also informed me how he remembered the Royal Hunt once 
came here, and all the townspeople ran out and left their shops, 
just as they do now for a balloon descent, or a fight, or a drown- 
ing, to see King George the Third, who pulled up his horse, 
and said to his companions, " I always stop to admire these 
meadows." It was my aged friend's name which once so scan- 
dalised our parish in good Mr. Pembroke's time. For when 
that esteemed minister asked the farmer's daughter who was 
the oldest man, to test the extent of her serious knowledge 
prior to confirmation, she answered, " If you please, sir, old 
Master Goring!" Which threw the Sunday-schools in such a 
flutter, that the children had to learn an extra hymn every week 
during the summer, with closed windows, to do away with the 
district disgrace. 

These meadows always had the reputation of being haunted. 
The notion had originated in the "fairy rings," the circles of 
fresh green grass which covered them, and which were always 
brightly verdant, however scorched up the surrounding turf 
might be. A few of these still remain ; and the old story, that 
they were traces of the fairies' tinkling steps as they danced 
round the throne mushroom, is still promulgated, but not cre- 
dited ; the first stream of the railway locomotive blew away all 
belief on its puff of steam. 

Elsewise I do not know who would have been bold enough 
on May-night, or St. Mark's Eve, or any other haunted anni- 



THE FAIRY WEDDING. 207 

versary, to have sat on the banks of the Abbey River, all alone, 
and asked, in the awful language of the Medium, " Are there 
any spirits present?" I wouldn't. Leaving alone the chance 
of witnessing, in shadows, the dreary funeral convoy of King 
Henry the Sixth, as it came up this very river in a rude black 
boat, with a torch at the head, dripping into the sputtering 
water, and flashing its light about on the blood-clotted features 
of the murdered monarch, until they appeared to writhe again 
with his last agony, without monk or mourner, except the pale 
spectre of his son, which floated in the air in an armour of dull 
blue light, clouded in half a dozen places by the gore from his 
wounds, as it burst forth in Edward's tent at Tewkesbury ; leav- 
ing alone all this, I say I should be very nervous, for a very 
great many people have been drowned in the Abbey Eiver. 
Some have gone, with nothing more to hope for in this world, 
on dark terrible nights, to put themselves at once beyond the 
power of human wrong and agony ; others, stout swimmers, 
have been pulled down in the bright summer noontide, by long 
snake-like weeds that twisted round their legs, and bubbled 
up their last breath with the sun dancing on their struggling 
limbs through the overhanging pollards ; and others, I regret 
to add, returning with uncertain notions, at night, from Lale- 
ham brotherly love clubs, have mistaken the bridge, and walked 
cheerfully into the water, cutting short their vocal intentions 
of drowning care in a bowl, by substituting themselves and 
the river, in which they have been found, the next morning, 
sitting down at the bottom, with a pipe still in their hands, 
and, to all appearance, presiding at an extensive free-and-easy 
of fishes. More agreeable would be the meadow spirits than 
the corpse- like visions I should expect on the river. They ap- 
pear to have been always very well-meaning and grateful little 
persons, if they were only well treated ; but if you put them 
out, they were terribly mischievous ; and this brings me to the 
fairy rings on the Burway, and how they came there. 

Old Sir Reginald Wapshott lived at Redwynde Court, on the 
pasture still marked out in the old histories of Surrey. The 
"vVapshotts had resided ever since the Conquest, as everybody 
knows, at Almoners' Barns, on St. Anne's Hill, near Hardwicke 
Court, where Charles James Fox used always to go to the fair, 
and see the girls dance in the barn, and walk about, eating a 
great brick of stale gingerbread. They had always been ex- 
cellent people ; and none of them ever rose above or sank below 
the grade of respectable yeomen, through all the civil wars and 



208 WILD OATS. 

turmoils that so upset the middle ages, except this Eeginald. 
He had been knighted for some service rendered to the king ; 
and being a fine fellow to boot, had attracted the attention of 
Dame Blanche Audley, widow of Neville Audley, and a daughter 
of Sir Mark Heriot — the same Blanche who. when a girl, hung 
to the clapper of the old monastery bell, still to be seen, with 
its monkish inscription (as figured in Bray and Manning's 
" Surrey" by my father), in the bell-tower of Chertsey Church, 
to delay her lover's execution. So Sir Eeginald and Dame 
Audley were married ; and he got fine, and did not mix much 
with his old friends ; and perhaps it was on that account that 
they said Dame Audley' s early energy had turned into ceaseless 
curiosity and tittle-tattle, and that this would one day bring 
her husband into trouble. Probably they might have exag- 
gerated it ; and, truth to tell, the old lady was rather an in- 
quisitive and scandalous "party;" and, indeed, it is a local 
attribute to be so ; for, from time immemorial, the good folks 
of Chertsey have always felt such a much greater interest in 
other people's business than in their own. that it is not asto- 
nishing the town stands pretty much the same as it did fifty 
years ago. 

One fine autumnal night the moon was full out upon the 
bowling-green of Eedwynde. It was after curfew time — they 
ring the curfew even now at Chertsey — and most of the house- 
hold had gone to rest, except old Sir Eeginald, who sat in an 
arbour drinking Malvoisie, and pondering on things in general ; 
which is a pleasant kind of rumination, and the very thing for 
country gentlemen to indulge in, as it involves but little brain 
weariness. The night was very fine and very still. Not a leaf 
was moving, and nothing broke the silence except the plash of 
the fountain as its bright drops fell into the basin, sparkling 
in the moonbeams. One by one the lights went out in the 
windows ; and Sir Eeginald was thinking of bed himself, when 
he saw what appeared to him to be a cluster of blue sparks 
moving across the lawn. They came nearer very slowly, and 
then he made out that they were glow-worms. In the middle 
of them, like a shepherd in a flock of sheep, walked the daintiest 
little person he had ever set eyes on. He was not above three 
or four inches high, and he wore a little cap made of a foxglove 
bell. His tunic was a large tulip, put on topsy-turvy, and he 
carried a stalk of lavender for a staff or wand. With this he 
directed the movements of the glow-worms, placing some here 
and others there, until he had distributed them all about the 



THE FAIRY WEDDING. 209 

turf banks that bordered the plot, when the ground appeared 
powdered with light ; and then the drops of water, that fell 
with various twinkling notes into the basin, appeared to utter 
most exquisite music, finer and softer than anything the knight 
had yet heard; and, as an accompaniment, every harebell in 
the garden appeared turned to silver suddenly, and assisted in 
ringing out a peal of marvellous changes. Whilst this went on, 
mushrooms of delicate whiteness rose from the turf, always 
surrounding one larger than the rest ; and this grew and grew, 
until it covered the others, and made a perfect tent, which 
fresh troops of glow-worms directly edged and spiralled with 
charming devices, always under the direction of the little cham- 
berlain, who, when he had apparently finished everything to his 
satisfaction, sat down on a small mushroom and surveyed the 
arrangements with great complacency. 

And now, from every direction, groups of fairies came on 
to the bowling-green, all exquisitely dressed in the latest 
elfin fashions, which would require the pen of Mr. Planche 
to describe, so fanciful and faylike were they. Some of 
the leading belles had fans of butterflies' wings, and wore 
plumes from the humming-bird ; but their robes of moleskin 
velvet were more especially admired, above all when trimmed 
with ribbons of Indian grass and ladybirds, and jewels from the 
diamond-beetles. Amongst the more exquisite beaux might be 
seen some very absurd dandies. One wore a "What's-o'- 
clock?" or "Puffaway," on his head, which almost gave him 
the air of a Kaffir chief ; and another, in a tight-fitting suit of 
bat's- wing membrane, with a jay's feather in his hat, looked 
almost like a rope-dancer, and quite prepared to perform upon 
the long spider's thread that stretched across the lawn. Two 
or three had caps of calceolarea petals ; and one silly fellow 
came in a Templar-looking helmet, formed of a filbert husk, 
worn upside down, with the forepart cut away. But these 
were mere coxcombs — empty young swells that could be routed 
with an awn of barley. 

They all took their places about on the little mushrooms as 
they pleased ; and then Master Neville saw that it was a 
wedding. For the bride and bridegroom had places of honour ; 
and the pretty little lady, in a veil of leaf lace trimmed with 
thistle down, looked a ravir. They made very merry for a long 
tyne, during which the old knight watched them from his 
arbour with the greatest wonder and admiration ; and at last 



210 WILD OATS. 

they appeared to have come to the end of the mouse-skins 
of wine which they brought with them. They squeezed out 
the last drops and then looked about for more, and finally 
began to complain of their miscalculation with loud lamenta- 
tions ; for their wine caves were far off in the remotest caverns 
of the Peak of Derbyshire, and the fairies hated to go in there 
at night, on account of the dwarfs, who set all sorts of traps for 
them. Por every hill, as is well known, is inhabited by dwarfs ; 
in fact, it is owing to their spite, for the rout and confusion 
caused in the tunnelling of Primrose Hill, that the accidents 
occur on the North- Western Railway, where they play such 
tricks with the switches and signals that the guards and porters 
have a hard time of it. 

Sir Neville thought it a great pity that such festive little 
folks should be stopped in their mirth for want of wine, and on 
such an occasion too. So he caught up a bottle of Malvoisie 
yet uncorked, and threw it amongst them. It came down with 
a " thug" on the turf, well-nigh smashing two or three of them, 
and causing great consternation generally. But one of them 
had seen the quarter that it came from ; so, going at once to 
the summer-house, he discovered the knight, and made an obei- 
sance to him. After which he said : 

" We have never yet allowed a mortal to keep his eyes after 
they have looked upon our gatherings. But you have a good 
heart, and have prolonged our cheer ; and, therefore, we hope 
you will join our party." 

The old knight could not refuse, there was so much grace and 
courtesy in the little gentleman's manner; so he took a garden- 
stool with him, and sat down very carefully, for fear of accident, 
amongst the company. They were all very polite, and pledged 
him repeatedly, and at last they began to dance ; and the beau- 
tiful little bride herself came up, and invited him to be her 
partner. They were not very well matched as to size, to be 
sure ; but it seemed to make very little difference to the fairies 
whether they were on the ground or off it : so, as Sir Neville 
could not very well stoop down to them, they flew up to him. 
And then they began to go round and round and round, until the 
old knight was fain to drop. But they would not stop — on they 
went, quicker and quicker, until, all of a sudden, a splash of 
water came down in the midst of them. In an instant everything 
was gone — fairies, glow-worms, banquet, and mushrooms ; and 
the old knight was lying upon the grass in the quiet moonlight, 
without a trace of the revelry about him, quite bewildered. 



THE FAIRY WEDDING. 211 

But not for long. The sound of the last music still hung on 
his ear, when it was broken in upon by the shrill voice of 
Dame Blanche, who was at one of the windows with a large 
black jack in her hand, which, just before full of water, she had 
emptied over the dancers. She had not seen them, for they had 
all put their caps on, which renders fairies invisible ; but she 
had perceived her husband capering about like a maniac, and 
believing him to be very far gone in his cups, had taken this 
summary mode of exacting his attention. 

No doubt there would have been an angry dialogue ; but, just 
as it was commencing, the little fairy chamberlain came flitting 
through the air, and thus spoke to the lady : 

" We have been very much irritated by your rudeness and 
meddling — you have broken up a very pleasant party ; and we 
are equally indignant at your husband's pusillanimity in sub- 
mitting to such treatment. It was nothing to you that he was 
enjoying himself; and he ought to have held you in better 
subjection than to have permitted your outrage. And so, to 
punish you, as you threw water out upon us, the place shall 
never be dry again — not in summer, for that would be no 
punishment, but in the damp, cold winter. And, at the same 
time, the marks of our last dances shall remain, to remind you 
and those who come after you of the cause." 

Having said which, he disappeared, like Aubrey's fairy, with 
a melodious twang, and was never seen again. 

But the threat was carried out. Every winter when the 
mist drops from the skeleton trees and the gaunt pollards into 
the water, and the weirs are choked, and the towing-path 
covered, the floods roll over the Abbey Meads, and the boats 
go through the gateways, and the fish get into the fields, and 
Chertsey becomes almost an island. But in the summer the 
green rings come out amazingly fresh on Laleham Bur way, 
however scorched up the surrounding pasturage may be. The 
fairies, however, have never appeared since. I cannot think 
what has become of them all. Perhaps a few have got a little 
employment in rapping for the spirits, but a vast number, I 
believe, emigrated to the Continent, and nestled about Heidel- 
berg, or led wandering lives with their cousins, the Djins and 
Peris of the East. And this may be what M. Grimm once 
heard — a tale similar to the above — abroad ; but be sure this is 
the original version, and the only true one. 

p2 



( 212 ) 



XXIY. 

ABOUT CHAMOIS AND HUNTERS. 

Few of my fellow tourists in the Valley of Chamouni have 
remained many days in the village without seeing a dead 
chamois hanging up some morning in the court-yard of their 
hotel ; and subsequently tasting it, and pretending that it was 
eatable, at the table d'hote in the afternoon. "What its flesh 
would be treated as venison, cared for, and hung, and delicately 
cooked, I cannot tell. As it is usually eaten within twenty- 
four hours of its death-shot, it is about as unpalatable as any- 
thing I know ; and pickled in vinegar for winter, as I have 
tasted it on the Simpion and St. Bernard, it is nastier still. 

The principal game of this portion of the Alps may be di- 
vided into four heads — hares, marmots, chamois, and bouque- 
tins. The latter beautiful animal is becoming more scarce every 
season, and is extinct on the Mont Blanc range : it is only to 
be found about the Piedmontese glaciers of Monte Eosa. There 
are, besides, badgers and foxes ; a lynx was shot at Servoz in 
1841 ; wolves are all but annihilated ; and the last bear about 
Chamouni was killed nearly ninety years ago by one of the 
Payots — a grandfather of the man who lost the forepart of his 
feet during Mr. Behren's ascent of Mont Blanc in 1851, and who 
now keeps a little refreshment chalet on the route to Montan- 
vert. The animal was shot hard by the Cascade des Pelerins. 
There was a large rock near the spot called the Pierre a l'Ours, 
but the guides have forgotten which it is ; so I recommended 
them to invent one, which would do just as well as many other 
Alpine memorials for the ruck of tourists. 

When a hunter kills a chamois, he brings it to one of the 
hotels at Chamouni, and receives, on an average, twenty-five 
francs for it ; sometimes the chase brings in a larger return. I 
gave old Jean Tairraz a commission, in 1853, to get me a pair 
alive. He and his neighbours contrived to catch two young 
ones about St. Grervais ; but by the time they arrived in Lon- 



ABOUT CHAMOIS AND HTTNTEES. 213 

don, they cost me as much as a pair of ponies would have done. 
Neither of them lived ; one had a broken leg on its arrival, 
which ultimately caused its death, and the other pined away, 
although very great attention and kinuness were shown to 
both. 

Colonel Colt would go mad if he saw the old carbines the 
chamois hunters use in the age of his revolving rifles. They 
are almost too heavy to lift, wonderful kickers, and hang-fire 
once or twice. But this perhaps is fortunate, otherwise there- 
would soon be no chamois left ; for the fascination of the pur- 
suit appears to be beyond that of any kind of hunting. Gordon 
Cumming and Jules Gerard themselves are not more ardent 
lovers of their peculiar chase than the men of Sixt and Sa- 
moens, and on their hunting-grounds England is worthily re- 
presented by Mr. Bagge, the member for West Norfolk. 

How these hardy fellows go out alone amongst the glaciers, 
or rather high moraines where the rock joins the ice, with 
nothing but a little bread, cheese, and brandy, all of the worst 
description, and without any clear notion as to when they shall 
return ; how they forget all danger in the excitement ; and how 
their whitened bones are sometimes found under the ledge of 
a huge granite boulder, where they had gone to sleep, never to 
wake again, many able pens have recounted. I do not know 
if what I have to add to these accounts is already well known 
or not ; but it has been picked up, orally, about Servoz or 
Chamouni. 

The chamois hunters are singularly superstitious. This is 
easily accounted for. They pass hours, sometimes days, alone, 
amidst the remote horrors of the glaciers ; and these regions 
abound in strange phenomena and mysterious noises, with 
effects of light and twilight uncertainties. They have vague 
recollections of spectre animals and mountain dwarfs ; ghostly 
hunters, doomed to chase phantom game for ever, and lights 
indicating the locality of ice- caverns filled with grains of pure 
gold. It was in seeking for the latter that old Jacques Balmat, 
who first went up Mont Blanc, lost his life. They believe 
greatly in spells and enchantments. They all entertain a notion, 
more or less, that they shall perish eventually on the glaciers ; 
but this seems to increase rather than diminish their passion 
for the sport. A young man once told De Saussure that his 
father and grandfather had both been lost on the mountains, 
and he knew that would also be his end ; indeed, he called his 



214 WILD OATS. 

knapsack his winding-sheet. His presentiment proved true 
shortly afterwards. He started from Sixt, and was never heard 
of again. 

One afternoon I had walked up ahead of the char-a-bancs 
from Chede to Servoz, and I was sitting outside Jean Carrier's 
inn there, opposite the church, to rest and take a p'tit verre. 
There is a curiosity-shop next the inn kept by Michel Des- 
champs; and "here one can see" (to quote foreign English) 
n stuffed bouquetin. 

While I was looking at it a peasant came up, and we had a 
talk. He told me he lived in the valley of Sixt, and that one 
night on the Buet he saw a hundred bouquetins all at once. 
He added, that they were being driven by a number of priests 
across the chasms of the glaciers, as easily as a boy would drive 
sheep over a pasture ; that they did not stop at the largest 
crevices, but went over them like birds ; and that in the morn- 
ing not a trace of them was to be seen. Of course this had 
all been next to a dream. He had been dozing with his eyes 
open — a perfectly possible state, that may be induced by over- 
watchmg — and whilst this actual scenery before him was printed 
on the retina, his wandering fancies had supplied the phantom 
appearances. With more foundation he told me of an orchard, 
close to the ironworks on the Giffre, which the devil swallowed 
up in one night, because the priests wanted it. That this 
orchard disappeared I found to be perfectly true, and there is 
a lake now in its place. He complained bitterly of the devil, 
as a great enemy to that part of the country. They had done 
all they could by putting up crosses and little chapels every- 
where, but he was still uncommonly troublesome. 

The devil is not, however, the most important of the mys- 
terious personages who hunt the chamois hunters; they all 
believe in Mountain Dwarfs, leading features in most popular 
superstitions. Once upon a time — I must begin the legend in 
the regular way — a Chamouni guide went to hunt chamois 
upon the Glacier d'Argentiere, which lies on the other side of 
the tall Aiguille Verte, separated, indeed, by it from the well- 
known Mer de Glace. He came upon a herd of chamois, and 
followed them so eagerly, that at last he reached quite the end 
of the glacier. The animals scrambled up the rocks, and the 
hunter, Pierre Eavenal, after them. He had hard work with 
his carbine, but he went up and up, and at last gained the 
highest peaks, and, looking over, he saw below him the Jardin — • 



ABOUT CHAMOIS AND HUNTERS. 215 

the well-known plot of grass and flowers which is such a fa- 
mous excursion from Chamouni — and all the chamois grazing 
upon it. Picking out the finest of them, he lodged his rifle on 
a rock to make a surer aim, and was just going to fire, when 
his arm was seized as with a grasp of iron. He turned round, 
and saw, at his side, the most horrible dwarf it was possible to 
conceive — the king of all the bogies. 

" So," said the little monster, " I have caught you at last ! 
I thought I should find out, some fine day, who was so con- 
stantly poaching about my property. And now to make you 
pay for it." 

He spoke with a hoarse, grating voice, that sounded like a 
tin-tack between two grindstones, and appeared to set his own 
teeth on edge as it came through them, from the faces he made. 
And then he took Pierre by the collar of his coat, and lifted 
him up until he overhung the precipice of the rocks above the 
Jardin — four hundred feet of smooth granite with jagged blocks 
at the bottom. 

" Oh, mercy ! mercy !" cried the wretched guide ; " I am a 
poor devil with a large family, and have no choice between 
hunting and starvation. I did not know the chamois were 
yours." 

The dwarf appeared to think there might be some reason in 
this appeal, for he drew his victim back upon the rocks, and 
then relaxed his grip. 

" Now look here," he said ; " if I allow you to live, will you 
promise me never to carry a rifle again between Mont Blanc 
and the Great St. Bernard ?" 

Pierre would have promised anything. 

" Very well. 'Now get back to your family. Here is a 
cheese for you all to live upon, which will always be sufficient 
as long as you do not devour it entirely : be careful that there 
is always a small piece left. And now — take that !" 

And with these words, the dwarf gave him such a tremendous 
kick, that it might have been sent to the museum at Geneva 
for a curiosity. It started Eavenal on his way home with such 
an impetus, that he and the cheese went rolling down the 
glacier, and bounding over the crevices at a rate the chamois 
themselves could not have kept up with ; and all this time the 
dwarf's horrid voice sounded in his ears, turning all his nerves 
the wrong way. If you have ever played w r ith mortar, and 
let it dry on your hands, and then rubbed them together ; 



216 WILD OATS. 

or filed your teeth during a hard frost with the outside of an 
oyster-shell ; or turned a dry flower-pot round in its saucer, 
with a little grit in it ; or listened to a skid on a hot road ; and 
then recalled all these things together, you will have some 
notion of his sensations. 

"When he got home, he did not mention a word of his adven- 
ture; and although rather bruised and confused — as well he 
might be — he Was in good spirits at his escape. He told his 
wife that he had got the cheese in exchange for a couple of 
marmots he had taken, and the good woman believed it. Wives 
believe more wonderful stories than that sometimes — not as a 
rule. 

To their utter astonishment, when they went to look at the 
cheese the next morning, the wedge they had cut out of it was 
entirely filled up ; and this happened again and again during 
several weeks, until the excitement quite passed away, and 
Pierre got bored, and wanted to be with his rifle once more on 
the glaciers ; and would sit for hours sighing and looking at it, 
hung over the fireplace of the chalet. 

One day, as he was wandering about the woods over Montan- 
vert, picking flowers to dry between paper for the tourists to 
purchase, he saw a fine chamois standing, as cool as might be, 
at the base of the Aiguille des Charmoz. All his old enthu- 
siasm returned. He ran down to Montanvert, borrowed a 
carbine, went back to the spot, and, without the least trouble, 
killed the animal, which bounded from crag to crag down the 
Aiguille* and at last fell on the glacier. He marked the spot 
and returned home, for it was getting too dark to go after the 
game that night ; but the next day he started betimes, and took 
the cheese with him. He did not observe, in his renewing 
ardour, that the last gap made in it had not been replaced. He 
reached the chamois, and being hot and hungry, with a little 
well of cold crystal water in the ice at his side, he sat down to 
breakfast, and before he reflected upon what he was doing, he 
had finished all the cheese. At that minute, a thunder-clap, 
which he thought was an avalanche, echoed amongst the moun- 
tains, a dark mist rose over the glacier, and the horrible dwarf 
once more stood at his side. 

"Miserable wretch!" he cried, in the same dreadful grating 
tones ; " you have broken your promise, and shall suffer for it. 
Perish!" 

In spite of the hunter's cries and entreaties, the dwarf 



ABOUT CHAMOIS AND HUNTEKS. 217 

dragged him to the edge of one of those yawning, boiling, 
bottomless caldrons known on the glaciers as Moulins. He 
held his screaming victim over it for a minute, and then let 
him fall right into the centre, and the whirling waters spun 
him round and round with a terrible roar, until he disappeared 
in the icy depths. 

Some years since there was a great to do at Chamouni. The 
papers stated that the ice about the source of Arveiron — or 
rather what used to be the source — had come very low down 
towards the hamlet of Bois, and that on melting, a human 
body had been found in it. The local papers said it was that 
of Jacques Balmat, who had been lost whilst looking for gold 
in the mountains ; but as he had perished in the Yallee de Sixt, 
this was utterly impossible. As well might a champagne cork, 
shot into the Thames from a yacht at the Nore, find its way 
into the Peak of Derbyshire. If I had been there, I should 
have told them that it was Ea venal ; but they would not have 
believed me, and I don't believe it myself. 



( 218 ) 



XXV. 

OPERA VERSELETS. 
1. — THE WAR OF THE NORMAS. 

Now glory to La Diva, who still reigns the queen of song ; 
And glory, too, to Costa — may he wield the baton long ! 
Now let the distant sound of song, and echo of the band, 
Be heard through Covent-garden, and Long-acre, and the Strand. 
And thou, too, Morning Chronicle, bold partisan of Beale, 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our weal. 
Por ill-advised was Jenny, when she thought to reach the throne 
Of that unrivalled songstress who made the part her own. 
Hurrah! hurrah! the first night proved she had essayed too 

much; 
Hurrah ! hurrah, for Grrisi and the Norma none can touch ! 

Oh ! how our hearts were beating when, a week before the day, 
We saw proud Lumley posting up his bills in long array, 
And read 'twas by the Queen's command, that she and all her 

peers 
"Would to the grand ovation join her bouquet and their cheers. 
There stood the name of Grand Lablache, of mighty voice and 

limb, 
And there too was Praschini, but we did not care for him. 
We saw the salle : we thought of handsome Edmund's cravat 

white, 
And good Sir Henry's blonde moustache all curling with delight, 
And we cried unto our Norma, that she might be underlined, 
To combat for her own great name, and leave the Lind behind. 

The Queen is come to welcome Lind ; and early did she dine, 
And all along the Haymarket are Life Guards in a line ; 
She looks upon her people, pack'd within the Opera walls, 
And they look at Grisi overhead, and Mario in the stalls. 



ESMERALDA. 219 

Now rouse thee, Lind; portray the priestess Norma' s rage and 

shame ; 
Work up the end of the first act ! Be not so very tame ! 
A thousand here have Grrisi heard ; strong minds who won't be 

done, 
By what they call " new readings," when there can be only one. 
Go on — go on ! more power yet ! Alack the curtain falls, 
And " Yery nice, but not the thing," is murmured in the stalls. 

Ho ! partisans of Lumley, don habiliments of woe ! 

"Weep, rend your hair, to hear the truth: your Norma was 

" no go." 
Ho ! Verdi, bring for charity thy opera to their aid, 
That Jenny Lind may sing and no comparison be made. 
Ho ! Bold Bond-street librarians find the public still is true 
Unto their long-tried favourite to whom all praise be due, 
For Grrisi still hath proved herself the best of all the bunch, 
Hath mocked the critic of the Post, and box-bought praise of 

Punch. 
Then glory to La Diva, who yet reigns the queen of song ; 
And glory, too, to Costa — may he wield the baton long ! 



2. — ESMERALDA. 

BY A MIDDLE-AGED GENTLEMAN. 

(Written in her Majesty's Theatre, Thursday, April 23, 1857.) 

Can thirteen years be gone and past, 
Since I saw Esmeralda last, 

And heard the tambourine 
Caelotta rattled at the wing, 
Ere, with that bright and joyous fling, 

She bounded on the scene ? 

Can it be true ? Alack ! alack ! 
Through a long vista looking back 

I trace the period o'er ! 
I'm stouter than I used to be ; 
Last birthday I was forty-three ; 

At balls I dance no more. 



220 WILD OATS. 

This morning Mr. Truefitt said 
He fear'd the hair upon my head 

At top was getting thin. 
" Thin !" What he so politely call'd 
"Was formerly considered laid — 

I bore it with a grin. 

Why — thirteen years ago — let's see, 
Enchanting Piccolomini 

Was quite a tiny witch ; 
Of Jenny Lind we'd scarcely heard— 
Of great Alboni not a word — 

And Delafield was rich. 

I mind me of the grand Copere, 
Of Perrot's comical despair — 

St. Leon Phoebus play'd; 
Venefra eke, and Gourriet too, 
And all the twinkliDg-footed crew 

That such ensemlle made ! 

Those were the ballet's days. How well 
I recollect how fair Giselle 

And Ondine whirl' d about ; 
And Alma, in Cerito's prime 
(Another Alma since that time 

Has put her fire quite out). 

But still, whilst sitting happy here, 
Old forms and faces still appear 

In amber-curtain'd nooks : 
And from the omnibus a lot 
Of friends, like me who've stouter got, 

Gaze forth, with pleasant looks. 

And see ! the old familiar scene — 
The Truands waiting for their queen, 

Upon their own demesne ; 
The captive poet, pale and lean — 
Small chance him and the rope between !- 

And hark ! the' tambourine ! 



" THE TRAVIATA" AT EXETER HALL. 221 

A graceful girl, with deer-like bound, 
That seems to spurn the level ground, 

Springs on, so fresh and fair ! 
And as she dips, her petticoats 
So swim about, she fairly floats 

In the enamoured air. 

Comes, too, each old-remember' d strain— 
I feel I'm thirty once again — 

The gipsies' galop wild, 
The Nuit des JVoces, the Truandaise, 
And all that long since did amaze 

In times so well beguil'd. 

Midst " JBravas /" loud the curtain falls j 
I leave the Opera's well-loved walls, 

And to my club repair. 
I'll try some supper once again, 
And in a beaker of champagne 

I'll toast Pocchini there. 

3. — " THE TEAVIATA" AT EXETEE HALL. 

(Easter Monday, April 13, 1857.) 

CoME,BeverendStiggms,Mrs.Priggings, get your umberellars— 
There will be such a rush' to-night amongst the ticket-sellers. 
The chance won't come again to us, the world's regenerators, 
To hear improper music, and not in the vile theayters. 

Come, all ye chosen lambs that form the audience of the Hall ; 

Come, blessed Barebones family — sly, sleek-haired, grim, and 
tall; 

Come, gaunt old maids, with false dry braids, long past tempta- 
tion's ken ; 

Come, pious clerks, who weep at larks; come, " Christian 
young men." 

Come, Bankers, who commence with prayer ; come, Zion's trusty 

helps, 
"Who would not let your children learn with those of Mr. Phelps ; 
Come, above all, that fusty smell of silks long worn and rank, 
"Which, on the days of dividends, floats all about the Bank. 



222 WILD OATS. 

Yet weep to hear how, on Good Friday, Sydenham's pile was 

cranim'd, 
And thirty-seven thousand souls teetotally were damn'd 
For worshipping God's glories from His universal book, 
And flying from the mumbling drone of some parochial Book. 

And having dropped the pious tear o'er that ungodly day, 
Eepeat some prayers — cut up the stairs — and get what seat 

you may, 
For Verdi holds high festival, and to the godly throng 
The Traviattfs piquant tale will be expressed in song ! 

It is not very likely that the outline of the plot 
"Will be distributed about — in fact, 'twere better not : 
Suffice to say the heroine, to whom the treat is owed, 
Should live at Brompton, and should die in the Blackfriars- 
road. 

But is it not a blessed thing, that chosen ones, like us, 
Can hear it at our sainted Hall, without unpleasant fuss ? 
Journals condemned its play-house form ; but bless our happy 

land, 
Which makes sin in the Haymarket religion in the Strand. 

So Reverend Stiggins, Mrs. Priggings, let us haste away, 
The thin end of the wedge is in, on this auspicious day, 
And, in the garb of sanctity, who knows but we may hear 
Some more " improper" music in the Easter week next year ! 

Oh-BE-JoYEUL HlGGTNS. 
Clapham Common. 

4. — LE KOTTVEATT PIEE-PAEE 3>E MOSSOO. 
(From the amended version oj Les Huguenots.') 

This great work lay neglected for some months, until the 
political events of February, 1858. It was then circulated. 
Sung in every corner of Mossoodom, it caused the army to push 
the cries of enthusiasm the most lively (" pousser les cris d'un 
enthousiasme le plus vif") ; and, taken up in an ironical chorus 
of men voices by Mr. Milner Gibson's Derlydizzygesangverein, 



LE JSTOUVEAU PIFF-PAFF DE MOSSOO. 223 

it actually sang Lord Palmerston's administration out of the 
House : 

Air — Maecei. 

A bas les sacres Eosbifs ! 

Jean Bull a terre ! 
A bas leurs femmes a vendre ! 

Au feu Ley-ces-tere-squerre ! 
Au feu de Londres les murs, 

Bepaires impurs ! 
Les Anglais ! Terrassons-les ! 

Prappons-les ! 
Piff ! paff ! pouf ! Boxons-les ! 
Qu'ils pleurent, 
Qu'ils meurent, 
Mais grace G-oddam ! 

Jamais la Prance ne trembla 

Aux plumes du Times ! 
Malheur au Punch perfide, 

Qui vante les crimes ! 
Brisons Roebuck, qui triche, 

Qui spik Angleesh ! 
Docks, Lord-Mayor — cassez-les I 

Chassez-les ! 
Piff! paff! pouf! Prappez-les ! 
Aff-an-Aff, 
Portare — paff! 
Mais grace Goddam I 



( 224 ) 



XXVI. 

AN OLD SWISS TRAVELLER, 

A traveller must have taken a very high ground a few 
hundred years ago. Scarcely any place had been visited, and 
very few had been described ; so that a tourist could publish 
what marvels he pleased, without much fear of contradiction in 
the next edition of " Murray's Hand-book." "When the inge- 
nious American showman of modern times painted his ten-mile 
long panorama of some mighty and unexplored river, and, on 
being asked whether he had been there, replied, " No — nor 
more had anybody else, which was his great advantage, because 
nobody could tell whether he was right or wrong," he reflected 
to some extent the spirit of the old travellers. It was not 
necessary to go far away from one's home to seek for marvels, 
or to become a " lion," in the sixteenth century. And indeed, 
before that, Marco Polo and John Mandeville, and the early 
adventurers who so excited Columbus with their mysterious 
islands in terrible and distant oceans, and their wondrous tales 
of Cipango, and St. Brandard, and Atlantis, might have created 
tbe same sensation without leaving their country to judge from 
the credit and renown attached to other chroniclers whilst the 
heavy fogs of credulity and ignorance hung over Europe. 

"We have been led into these considerations through lighting 
on an old book of travels, purporting to be a description of a 
part of Switzerland, and published at Lucerne in the year 1645. 
Its author, Jean Leopold Cysat, was a native of that city ; and 
his book presents a quaint evidence of the state of the natural 
sciences and credulity of the people at that epoch. His " tra- 
vels" were not very extensive ; they were principally confined 
to what would now be termed an "excursion" round the Lake 
of Lucerne, about which the citizens knew absolutely nothing. 
The little steamer that leaves Lucerne twice a day for Fluelyn, 
which it reaches in an hour or two, runs over the extent of 
Cysat's wanderings. We gain in time, but we certainly lose 
in marvels, for we see nothing like the old traveller saw ; and 
this with every intention to make use of our eyes. "We do not 



AN OLD SWISS TRAVELLER. 225 

remember much beyond the Eighi visitors getting in at Weggis, 
and the meadow of Griittli, and TelFs Chapel. This latter 
spot did not much interest Master Cysat. His belief in the 
pippin-splitting patriot was evidently small. The acorn of tra- 
dition had not grown up into the oak-tree of fact, nurtured by 
the sunny holiday credulity of Cockney tourists. 

After having enlarged upon the beauties of the lake, our 
good traveller describes minutely the wonderful fish found in 
it. Any one of these, hung in the shop of a "West-end fish- 
monger during the season, would have collected an impenetrable 
crowd. Amongst them was one with four legs and a frog's 
head. He also saw carp with humps on their backs like dro- 
medaries, and others with faces like those of cats. Many 
had stones in their heads, which served as remedies against 
several disorders ; and, for fear that we should doubt this, he 
gravely tells us that in 1642 he found one of these stones in a 
crayfish caught in the Lake of Sempach, and that the likeness 
of our Saviour was engraven upon it. He goes on to say that 
some of the fish in the Lake of Lucerne are so large that they 
run out and swallow the cattle when they come to drink ; and 
in one of these fish he found a man's hand with two gold rings 
on it. We might conclude this to have been an alligator, only 
our author expressly states that it had neither scales nor teeth, 
and that it must have been a whale, which had mounted the 
Ehine, the Aar, and the Eeuss to gain the lake ! Its flesh was 
rather nasty, but possessed great virtues. It cleared the voice 
of those who tasted it, and cured sciatica. We have fished for 
hours in the Lake of Lucerne, but never yet chanced to hook 
such a marvel. 

The newspaper paragraphist's last resource, a " shower of 
frogs," would not have astonished the good Cysat. Near 
Mussegg he was out in a heavy rain of them. They fell all 
about him and on his hat in incredible quantities. He says 
they appeared young, but were very thin ; and that those 
which fell on the road were killed, but those tumbling on the 
grass hopped away in fine style. He also saw several dragons ; 
but he is puzzled whether to class them as birds, fish, or qua- 
drupeds. One started from the Eighi and flew away towards 
Mount Pilatus, so frightening a peasant at work in the fields 
that he fainted, but on recovering found a precious stone near 
him as large as a goose's egg, which the dragon had dropped, 
and which subsequently cured, in an astonishing manner, many 

Q 



226 WILD OATS. 

stout disorders, and at last appears to have involved the whole 
population in a lawsuit as to its possession. 

"We do not invest the Highiwith much supernatural romance 
just at present. Fairies cannot abide hotels, and they hate the 
clatter of knives and forks, and the Anglo-French of wrangling 
travellers, and the popping of corks from bottles of champagne 
and limonade gazeuse. Neither could they pursue their moon- 
light dances on the summit without the fear of being disturbed 
long before daybreak by the appearance of some eager tourist, 
wrapped up in his own counterpane, freshly crept out of his 
bedroom to see if it was time for the sun to rise. But it seems 
there is, or was, a great deal to see on the Eighi beyond the 
sunrise, the view from the Kulm and Staffel, and the Fall of 
the Kossberg. When Master Cysat went up he was shown 
several very curious grottos, one of which was inhabited by 
dwarfs of the mountains (Bergmannlien) ; " but this," he says, 
in a most Herodotus-like spirit of straightforward candour, " I 
must say that I was but told: let them believe it who may." 
Subsequently he was shown a lake, at the bottom of which the 
inhabitants of the district occasionally saw large herds of pigs, 
which turned over suddenly on their backs when looked at; 
and on an adjacent peak, an ecclesiastic of high repute told 
him that he had seen some fragments of a vast ship, which he 
believes must have rested there since the Deluge. To back up 
this story, he quotes a writer who declared that in a mine at 
Berne, three hundred feet under ground, he had found a ship, 
with the bodies of forty men on board, together with anchors 
and rigging. And, continuing his route, he mentions a lake of 
a marvellous nature. When any one stands on its bank, and 
shouts three times, the water commences to boil over with such 
violence that the intruder has scarcely time to get out of the 
way ; and, without fail, always dies within the year. Master 
Cysat appears rather incredulous on this point. He did not 
test it himself, not considering the result in any way satis- 
factory. 

But while Master Cysat thus minutely and carefully gathers 
the physical wonders of the lake of the Four Cantons, he does 
not forget the social aspects. Everybody who has been up and 
down the Eighi recollects the sunny little village of Weggis, and 
its wooden pier, on which it is so pleasant to sit and watch the 
blue sparkling water, and wait for the St. Gothard steam-boat. 
Well, one fine Saturday, in the autumn of 1617, it seems that 
the treasurer of the parish, a thirsty " party," named Fishlien, 



AH OLD SWISS TBAVTLLEH. 221 

suddenly recollected that the next day was the fete of the local 
patron, and that a great consumption of meat, wine, liqueurs, 
and fruit- would take place in consequence ; and so. careless of 
dragons, and whales, and other terrors of the lake,, he started off 
in his boat for Lucerne, there to lay in a stock of comestibles, 
blaster Cysat describes these bears as hollowed out of the 
trunks of trees like the canoes of savages. Our good man 
arrived at Lucerne without any aeekkafc, and made his pur- 
chases, paying especial attention to the choice of the wines ; in 
fact, he was so anxicv.s to select the finest for his patrons, that 
no thirsty soul with a " tasting order " in the cool cellars of the 
London Docks ever discussed so many varieties. At last. 
having finished everything to his satisfaction, he re-embarked. 
It was a beautiful evening ; the heat of the boo had declined, 
and a light breeze coming down from Afount Pilatus blew 
directly across to Weggia All this was very agreeable: so 
Pishlien hoisted a little square sail, and then laid himself com- 
fortably down at the bottom of his boat, and contemplated the 
stars which began to peep and twinkle through the violet sky. 
But he soon found that the vapours of the wine he had tasted 
troubled his observations, The stars danced and whirled round 
like flies in a ceiling quadrille, and indeed were doubled in 
number : so that, after a time, murmirring a confused and 
melancholy convivial song, he shut his eyes, and, leaving to the 
wind all the task of driving his boat to his native shore, fell fast- 
asleep. 

It so chanced that the wind soon fell asleep too. The current 
of the Eeuss was rtrnning with its usual rapidity through the 
lake ; and the good man. boat. wine, provisions and all, turned 
back again towards Lucerne. He darted under the first bridge, 
and might have been stopped, if. like the Lady of Shalott, when 
she floated down to the " many-towered Camelot." he had kept 
on singing. But he was still fast as a church, and he glided on 
unperceived under the second bridge, and then tinder the third, 
all very quietly, until he came to that part of the Eeuss where 
the rapids began. And here his boat was so tossed, and driven, 
and bumped against the shore, that he was roused from his 
slumbers, and perceived in his horror that he was shooting 
■long the stream between strange landmarks, and perfectly 
helpless. At last, alter every vain attempt, he contrived to 
hold on to a bramble, and so pull himself to land. But he had 
come so far that no assistance was near, and, ultimately, he 



228 WILD OATS. 

never got back to Weggis with his meats and drinks until the 
fete was all passed and over. And this being all the story, it is 
remarkable what pains Master Cysat has taken to chronicle a 
matter of such great simplicity amidst the other astounding 
marvels with which his book abounds. 

Looking back to the credulous old writer, we almost regret 
some of his marvels are not yet extant, for the benefit of Swiss 
travellers, who will romance about his tours. They might there 
have seen something that would have served them to have talked 
about on their return home beyond " storms on the Grimsel." 
"We all know a class of young men — they are chiefly budding 
barristers — who bore you if you sit next to them at dinner-par- 
ties, with accounts of frightful adventures they encountered in 
the snow, with ignorant guides, on the most beaten passes of 
the Cockney Swiss itinerary. Tou know all the time that 
these things never happened ; that every road, and pass, and 
sentier of the Alps is as secure as Hampstead Heath ; that the 
long-detailed conversations these travellers had with their 
guides, their determined resolutions, threats, altercations, and 
triumphs, were vivid inventions, looking to the average French 
of the Temple ; that adventures altogether in travelling have 
long ceased to be, since the existence of continental railways, 
circular notes, and " Murray ;" that those who go to the Mer 
de Glace have not been half of the way up Mont Blanc, nor 
anything approaching to it ; and that when the corks of Bar- 
clay and Perkins floated on the Lake of Lucerne, and the echoes 
of Tell's meadow were called forth by the " Half a turn astarn !" 
of the steam-boat engineer's boy, no more adventures would be 
allowed to run about the dessert. And, therefore, we wish 
that Cysat's book would hold good at present, to furnish these 
chatterers with new themes. Besides, what a draw his Eighi 
dragon would be at the Zoological Gardens ; or his large fish in 
the tank at the Polytechnic Institution ! How a family of the 
mountain dwarfs would put out of joint the noses — as much as 
they possess — of the Bosjesmen, managed by a 'cute American ! 
And what a blessing, as soon as Parliament and the elections 
were over, his shower of frogs would be to the entire newspaper 
interests of the United Kingdom ! 

But these things are not. Bradshaw is the great Iconoclast 
of romantic images, and the dread interior of Africa is now the 
only spot left for any one to go to who wishes to make an un- 
contradicted excitement by a book of travels. 



( 229 ) 



XXYII. 

A PLEA FOR BOULOGNE. 

"We never respect old gents — for there are old gents as well 
as young ones — who, not being able to get beyond a few phrases 
of the French conversation-book, and uttering even these with 
an unintelligibility which makes the French maid request they 
will speak English — get enthusiastically patriotic after dinner, 
and talk to travellers at table about " our own country," and 
the " no wish to see foreign lands until they know their own." 

Nor do we overmuch like the young ones — in addition to a 
rooted hatred to gents in general — who catch up the same idea 
second-hand, and cling to it as they know they would do to the 
side of the steamer, when they are pretending to look after some 
creature that was following on their lee, but literally concealing 
their discomfort ; who, when a guest says he has crossed the St. 
Gothard, exclaim, "Ah, but you should see Wales!" and who, 
when you mention the rocks of Meillerie, exclaim, " Oh ! but 
did you ever go to Hastings ?" There are hundreds of these 
individuals who, having walked up to the waterspout at the 
end of Shanklin Chine, will sneer at all you can humbly venture 
to say about Interlachen or Aosta. And when those who ought 
to be good, honest persons, descant upon " the beauties of our 
own land, if people would but look after them," we get some- 
what angry. Not that we deny the glories of an English land- 
scape — Heaven forfend we ever should ! — if there was only the 
afternoon sunlit glade upon which the curtain rises for the 
romance of Ivanhoe left in our country to keep up the cha- 
racter for sylvan beauty : but these remarks are always made 
in depreciation of some foreign spot the speaker has never 
visited. "We would, on such occasions, always provide him 
with a handbook, and a private set of memoranda to boot, of 
the choicest hotels and least deceptive vetturini on the high 
roads of Europe, that they might go forthwith and be un- 
deceived. The observation that we so often hear made of 
" England being the place for everything, after all," is, as re- 



230 WILD OATS. 

gards travelling, as deceptive as the absurd one that our 
school-days are our happiest — at least we judge by our own — 
and we suppose that the discipline of Merchant Taylors' may 
be considered a fair type of the unmeaning severity with which 
boys are treated at public schools, the unjust torture which is 
felt at the time, and, sometimes, dispassionately recollected. 

For all such notions are conventional ; and conventionality 
is the log that old slow coaches lay across the railway upon 
which the train of social improvement is to run, with first, 
second, and even third-class passengers. But many things 
hitherto considered unimpeachable — that is to say, conven- 
tionally so — are, we rejoice to say, finding their level. Dreary 
five-act comedies, which we know of as " standard" from the 
play-bills, as we know of something else of the same name in 
Cornhill from the milestones ; dismal dinner-parties, the battles 
of which are desperately fought with heavy silver spoons, 
different champagne-glasses to any one ever saw before, new 
methods of drinking wine, and wine-coolers in which bottles 
are stuck without an atom of ice, but merely put there because 
the coolers are silver; the notion with some men that a cigar 
must be smoked after breakfast or during billiards, if they 
would have their lives worth a day's purchase; putting dif- 
ferent trousers on on Sundays ; declaring that you derive more 
pleasure from the Ancient Concerts, or listening to " Septettes" 
in ever so many flats, played to many more, than from Bellini 
or Auber : all these things — very slowly, but surely — are dis- 
appearing ; and we hope soon to number also amongst them 
the frequenters of English watering-places. 

"We do not say the places themselves, but their habitues ; for 
with these latter lies the fault of making them so dreary as they 
are. Let us take three resorts, by way of example, as typical 
of what we wish to explain — Brighton, Bamsgate, and Margate. 
They are Cockney specimens— pur sang — we admit ; but after 
all, the much-abused and burlesqued epithet pertains to a great 
deal that is ardently followed and copied amongst those who 
would be the last to confess it. We might, perhaps, except 
Margate, on the ground that there is a rampant, glorious vul- 
garity about it, which makes it at times marvellously enter- 
taining. There is no aiming in the deportment of the Margate 
visitors : you may dress as well as you please all day long, and 
still be allowed to go unnoticed. Nay, if we recollect aright, 
there was some sylvan retreat within scent of the sea-weed, 



A PLEA FOR BOULOGNE. 231 

where you could procure a tea " in a pleasing style of rusticity 
at eightpence per head," without being stared at ; and if, after 
the Arcadian meal, you had chosen to dance a fandango 
amongst the cups and saucers, in the style of the renowned 
Baron of Rosherville, and in your own buff slippers, you might 
have done it, and yet, somehow or another, kept within the 
pale of Margate society. And so, we will not further speak of 
Margate beyond two words of praise — one for its breakfast- 
bread, and the other for Cobb's ale. 

But at Kamsgate all this is very different. The good advice 
which we once saw pasted under a kitchen clock, of " a time 
for everything and everything at its time," might well be 
engraved at the end of the pier. For there is a proper order 
of doing things there whether you like it or no. You must 
bathe at a certain time, in order to be ready at the proper 
period to read old novels on the sands, and tumble backwards 
in your arm-chairs, or have your shoes — they don't like slippers 
at Eamsgate — filled with specimens of the aforesaid sands by 
the ceaseless toil of the infantile labouring classes with their 
spades. And when this period has elapsed, woe betide you if 
you are not ready to go home to lunch ! To be seen about at 
such a period in the streets would be as bad as a "West-end man 
to be detected in London on the Derby Day, the Middle Hor- 
ticultural Fete, or the beginning of September ; it would be 
taken that you had neither lunch nor lodgings. Having 
lunched on bread-and-butter — if at a boarding-house, yester- 
day's joint cold in addition — you dress for the time of going 
on the pier, and there you must walk with a pertinacity that 
would tire the Wandering Jew, until it is time " to see the 
boat come in." The spectacle is not exciting ; if you have a 
friend on board, you recognise and nod to him ; and then do 
not know what else to do but to keep nodding on like a man- 
darin, and smiling, until he dives after his luggage ; if you 
know nobody, you wait for the grand finale of seeing the pas- 
sengers come up the steps, and then the show is over. And 
then comes the sadness of the after-promenade — of meeting 
those you know, once, and having a small conversation with 
them on the topics of the day ; and then meeting them at the 
next turn, and saying, " Still here, you see ;" and then meeting 
them coming back, and gasping, " What, not gone yet !" and 
then not knowing for twelve more turns what the deuce to say, 
but trying not to see them at all, or smiling blandly sideways 



232 WILD OATS. 

as they pass. This goes on until it is time to go home and do 
nothing for an hour before dinner, literally from having nothing 
to do ; and then you dine. If you are in lodgings, a desolate 
chop from a sheep who may have been fed on shrimps, or any- 
thing else that came handy; or a melancholy fowl who may 
have been brought up upon those marine plants you pop with 
your fingers, and so inflated rather than fattened, is your meal. 
If at a boarding-house, you meet those wonderful old ladies 
one never encounters anywhere else; who, when they have 
said, "Have you been out to-day, Miss Pippy?" to the very 
person they met on the pier, think that the dinner-conversation 
is established. And to see them squabble afterwards at cards : 
that certainly, for a little time, is amusing. Then comes the 
library — the time for that is nine ; the " chances" — well may 
they be termed so — for the six-shilling ticket ; the watch, or 
work-box, or caddy, that is to form the grand sweepstakes ; the 
same people you have seen in the morning, noon, and night, 
whom, if you do not know, you are bound to look at disdain- 
fully. This, a little after ten, concludes the day, and has only 
one good point — you may win a ticket, and that is a safe em- 
ployment for two hours the next morning in selecting out its 
value from the mass of purses, pomatum, bandoline, mats, and 
chimney ornaments that confound you. In this respect, let 
us award all praise to Mr. Sackett and Mr. Fuller for their 
oft-tried patience, their courtesy, and wish to oblige. 

The same remarks, with little variation, apply to Brighton. 
But here less is aimed at; it is Eegent-street planted quite 
at its ease upon the cliffs. Tou know all the faces and 
equipages you meet, and you meet them as a matter of 
course. Sensible people do not go there for relaxation, but as 
a conventional duty they owe to society : the weak-minded be- 
lieve that it is pure tranquil enjoyment. Look upon Brighton 
as a bright amphibious resuscitation of the London season, and 
it is glorious ; talk of it as a sea-side resort for letting down the 
tightly drawn strings of your occupied life, and the failure is 
painful. If you " went in" for comfort and carelessness you 
would soon find out your mistake. In a shooting-jacket, a 
ballet-girl shirt (or a quieter pattern if you choose), and a loose 
single-tied Joinville, you would directly be taught to shrink 
from the noon sun like a convolvulus. An Ojibbeway would 
not attract more attention. You might as well, being grown 



A PLEA FOR BOULOGNE. 233 

up, ride from Norfolk-square to the Albion Hotel in a goat- 
chaise. 

In contradistinction to all this imaginary enjoyment, let us 
take the pleasant, careless Boulogne. It has been customary to 
deride this new keyhole to the Continent ; to joke about the 
mobs who fly there, like the ships, for a harbour of refuge ; to 
allude to " stags" and sharpers, and broken incomes — in fact, to 
throw every possible slur upon it and its inhabitants. And yet 
there is no place in the world where really pleasant relaxation 
can be so readily procured, and at such a cheap rate. You will 
be told by its enemies that Boulogne is now quite an English 
town. Don't believe them. "What is there English in its gay, 
lively port, and lines of smart hotels — its thoroughly conti- 
nental Rue Neuve Chaussee and moyen-dge Upper Town — its 
poissarde population, with their short red petticoats and naked 
legs, or blue stockings — its hundreds of glittering white caps in 
the Place on market-day ? "Walk a mile away from it in any 
direction — towards Wimereux, Wimille, or Portel — and you will 
see as much of Erance as though you had been right across it 
from Boulogne to Besancon. Where will you show us such a 
glorious stroll as that along the cliffs to Ambleteuse, with the 
sea and the picturesque rocks and martello towers so far below 
you, and literally in sight of home all the way, if the day be 
but moderately clear ? 

Tou need not make yourself smart to go on the pier at Bou- 
logne ; you might wander about dressed in the popular costume 
of Bobinson Crusoe all day, if you pleased, and no one would 
turn his head to look after you ; and if there is no better 
amusement than to watch and hear the small impish children 
play marbles, and squabble in Erench, why that is something. 
But seeing the boat come in is here something worth waiting 
for. It is a glorious sight to watch her, if the wind is strong, 
and the tide somewhat low, rolling and plunging over the bar ; 
and the debarkation of the passengers is as good as a farce, 
especially if there are two or three undecided in their minds as 
to their abode, for then they are sure to go to all manner of 
hotels at once, so urgently do the touters urge the claims of 
their various establishments. 

There is no ennui at Boulogne, because there is no conven- 
tional observance of rules for deportment. Everybody does 
what he likes ; not what he thinks he ought to like. And, 



234 WILD OATS. 

if you wish it, there is a charming private society. In fact, 
Boulogne is fining down to exceeding respectability ; for it has 
become a trifle too expensive for the outlawed tribes, and they 
have emigrated, many, we believe, to Calais. It is still much 
cheaper than England, even to casual visitors, the ordinary ex- 
penses of staying there being, compared with the resorts above 
alluded to, as two to three. The pleasant excitement of a trip 
thither lasts to the very return ; for are you not in duty bound 
to smuggle eau-de-Cologne, gloves, embroidered pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs, and trifling jewellery ? It is true, to be sure, you 
may get everything at the same rate in the Lowther Arcade ; 
but that is a very dull way of procuring them. Every contra- 
band article becomes an object of interest, far more valuable than 
the unmeaning " trifle from" any of the home watering-places 
we have before alluded to. 

Newspaper statistics show you, from time to time, the num- 
bers who pass from Folkestone to Boulogne, compared with the 
last year. Increase the proportion every season, and you will 
not repent of having done so. 



( 235 ) 
XXYHI. 

THE COMPLAINT OF THE FOEEIGN-OFFICE CLERK. 

Co^fouitd tlie telegraphs and war, 

And letters sent off wet ! 
Confound the Russians and their Czar! 

Confound the whole Gazette! 
I thought at last upon the Alps 

That you and I should meet, 
But now you are at Chamouni, 

And I'm in Downing-street. 

I made my plans, I fixed the day, 

I got some thick-soled shoes 
To " do the Alps ;" and on the way 

I meant to buy a blouse. 
I lost myself in visions bright, 

Day-dreaming of the treat, 
To be with you at Chamouni, 

Away from Downing-street. 

I thought of those dark pine-tree woods, 

Those fern-clad granite cells, 
Those channels of the glacier floods, 

Those sweet-toned cattle bells. 
That milk — these girls — those /raises du bois— 

In fact, those things you meet 
At every turn in Chamouni, 

But not in Downing-street. 

And, Annie dear, I thought of you— 

A poet would say " thee" — 
In that " unclouded weather blue" 

(That's Tennyson, not me, 
Or rather " I "), but all my wits 

HaYe beaten a retreat, 
Whilst thinking you're at Chamouni, 

And I'm in Downing-street. 



236 WILD OATS. 

And worst of all, I thought of Mm, 

And came a shadow dark — 
That wretched boy, with figure slim, 

Tou rode with in the Park. 
I know at every table d'hote 

By you he'll take his seat, 
And you will talk of Chamouni, 

Nor think of Downing-street. 

Annie ! I'm sure that you must own 

You can't like such a muff", 
"Whose small moustache has not yet grown, 

But still remains like pluff. 
His Trench is vile — he cannot dance, 

I'd waltz him off his feet ; 
But muffs come out at Chamouni, 

"Who're crushed in Downing-street. 

I feel that it is very wrong, 

But get him to go up 
"What he, no doubt, would call Mont Blong, 

And at th e Mulets sup ; 
And in the dark down some crevasse 

A proper end he'll meet, 
And then, perchance, at Chamouni, 

You'll think of Downing-street. 

A postman's knock — they're very long — 

A letter ! and from you ! 
You dear, dear thing ! I was so wrong ! 

You're still as nice as true. 
And " muff" has not been there at all! 

All love then till we meet ; 
And you shall talk of Chamouni, 

And I — of Downing-street. 



( 237 ) 



XXIX. 

MR. GEUBBE'S NIGHT WITH MEMNON. 

In the far west of London — preserving many traces of its 
original characteristics, amidst the wide expanse of architectural 
innovations which are continually springing up around it — 
there is a sober and antiquated, but withal respectable, locality, 
known to those travellers whose enterprise has led them thus 
far into the occidental suburbs, as Brompton. It is a district 
principally inhabited by theatricals, literati, and small an- 
nuitants ; and is much esteemed on account of the salubrity of 
its climate, the mildness of its society, and the economy of its 
household arrangements. Its chief natural curiosities are tea- 
parties and old ladies ; and its overland journey to London is 
performed in omnibuses, unless the route by water is preferred. 
But this is somewhat circuitous — Cadogan Pier, which is the 
nearest port, standing in the same relation to Brompton as 
Civita Yecchia does to Eome. 

Mr. "Withers Grubbe, who was an old inhabitant of this 
pleasant village, resided in a modest tenement situate at the 
edge of the great Fulham-road. His establishment comprised 
himself and his housekeeper — a staid woman of matronly ap- 
pearance — from which circumstance it may be fairly presumed 
that he was either a widower or a bachelor ; but the uncer- 
tainty as to which of these two orders of single life he came 
under will be quite removed when we state that he was an 
antiquary, an entomologist, and a general natural philosopher, 
somewhat resembling a cocoa-nut, being shrivelled in external 
appearance, but possessing a good heart or kernel, and not 
entirely destitute of the milk of human kindness. As his 
favourite pursuits had been, from time immemorial, at variance 
with matrimony, he had never taken unto himself a wife. 
Once, and once only, did his friends speak of his falling in love. 
It was in the Park, one bright frosty morning, when he saw a 
lady, whose cloak somewhat resembled the delicate tintings of 
the privet moth ; but this lepidopterous attachment was very 



238 WILD OATS. 

transient, and the next chrysalis of the Sphynx Atropos, or 
number of the Gentleman' 's Magazine that came to hand, 
immediately banished it from his mind. And he was an occa- 
sional correspondent to the aforenamed humorous publication. 
He had sent them a drawing of the old key of his dust-bin, and 
a dissertation upon several worn-out brass button-tops he had 
from time to time picked up in his walks, believing them to be 
ancient coins ; as well as a plan of the Eoman encampment on 
the Birmingham Railway, and other interesting articles, the 
majority of which were " Reclined, with thanks," by the vene- 
rable and undying Mr. Urban. He belonged also to most of 
the learned and scientific bodies, to all of whom he read the 
rejected contributions, so that his time was pretty well occu- 
pied, and more especially in the spring ; for then his larvae and 
aureliae broke forth into a new life, and there was such a buzzing, 
and fluttering, and pinning, and labelling all over the house, 
with intrusive butterflies getting into the bedrooms, and strange 
caterpillars walking up and down stairs, that people of ordinary 
nerves, and uninterested in insect architecture, were afraid to 
go into the house. But he cherished all his living things 
with singular affection, even to the moths which had fattened 
upon his waistcoats, and the cockroaches which ran about his 
kitchen ; although Mrs. "Weston, the housekeeper, could never 
understand that the former insects only did any mischief in 
their first stage of existence, and that the latter were looked 
upon as sacred things, from the high veneration they were held 
in amongst the ancient Egyptians. The poor ignorant woman, 
in the darkness of her intellect, classed them as "warmint." 

The great aim of Mr. Grubbe's labours was to get up some 
paper that should produce a striking sensation in the learned 
world by the novel facts that it might disclose — a consumma- 
tion which had never yet arrived, for his most interesting dis- 
coveries had always been forestalled. To this great end did he 
consume his midnight patent stearine ; for this did he burn 
holes in all his carpets with the contents of his galvanic battery, 
and get phosphorus under his nails, or take all the colour from 
his table-covers ; in prosecuting this endeavour, by rubbing his 
buffer of black lead over cartridge paper, laid upon engraved 
stones and brass tablets to take the impression, was he three 
times apprehended for Swing, and once for sacrilege. But 
hitherto he had never produced any extraordinary impression 
beyond that which his appearance created with the rustics; 



\ 



ME. GRUBBE'S NIGHT WITH MEMNON 239 

and although he was a walking catalogue of the British Mu- 
seum — far more copious and elaborate than those hired by 
country visitors at contiguous fishmongers' and public-houses— 
he found every object therein had been so often and so minutely 
described that nothing fresh was left to dilate upon. And this 
opinion for a time subdued his energy, until one evening he was 
present at the unrolling of a mummy. He listened with intense 
attention to the remarks of the lecturer, and envied him the 
proud position he was for the time placed in, as the descriptive 
link between the present and the'long-past epochs. But when 
the ceremony was finished, and Mr. Grubbe found, upon re- 
viewing the lecture, that our acquaintance with the ancient 
Egyptians extended just far enough to show that we knew 
nothing at all about them, a fresh chain of research presented 
itself to his mind, and from that time every other pursuit was 
merged in the depths of the Great Pyramid, or perched upon 
the edge of Belzoni's sarcophagus. He made a mummy of his 
favourite cat, called his abode Sphynx Cottage, and allowed the 
kitchen to swarm with cockroaches — which he called searabaei, 
and Mrs. "Weston black beadles — more than ever. 

Things stood thus when, one sultry July morning, a learned 
friend called to beg his company in a visit to the docks, to view 
some wonderful organic remains, not yet landed, which a ship 
had brought from a distant country. Mr. Grubbe immediately 
prepared for the excursion ; and after having drawn an odd 
pair of boots upon the wrong legs in his absence of mind, as 
well as omitted to take off his duffel dressing-gown, he gave 
himself up to the care of Mrs. "Weston, who finally pronounced 
him fit to appear in the public streets. He accordingly started 
with his friend, taking the omnibus to the Bank, whence they 
proceeded to the docks on foot, saving the other sixpence ; and 
beguiling the journey with many curious arguments and opinions 
upon ichthyosauri and the blue lias clay. 

The inspection of the fossils was most satisfactory, and they 
were pronounced highly interesting, the more so because several 
of them were perfectly incomprehensible ; and notwithstanding 
the confined and heated places in which they were stowed, Mr. 
Grubbe poked about amongst the packing-cases, covered with 
dust and perspiration, and dragging his friend after him, until 
every available object had been investigated, and they emerged 
from the hold into the free air. A fresh treat now awaited 
him. His friend was attached to everything old equally with 



240 WILD OATS. 

himself, and old wine possessed no insignificant share of his 
affections. With praiseworthy foresight he had provided a 
tasting-order as a crowning finish to their excursion ; and 
having raised Mr. Grubbe's curiosity by mysterious hints of 
pipes and casks that had long slumbered in cool excavations 
below the level of the Thames, and wine more generous, oily, 
and sparkling than ever came into the dealers' hands, they were 
not long in providing themselves with inches of candle in split 
laths, and following their guide — a priest of Bacchus in high- 
lows and corduroys — into the bowels of the docks. How long 
they lingered therein we are ashamed to state ; nor will we tell 
the world too ruthlessly how many casks were broached by the 
relentless gimlet ; how the wine leaped bright and creaming 
from the wood ; how the glasses held twice the ordinary quan- 
tity, and how they were even rinsed out with claret and Ma- 
deira, which was thrown about amongst the sawdust like water. 
Neither will we betray the number of samples tasted by the 
visitors ; nor do more than just hint at Mr. Grubbe's slapping 
the celiarman on the back for a good fellow, and endeavouring 
to strike up an ancient bacchanalian melody, sung by Dignum, 
in his young days. "We only know that this subterranean 
sojourn was protracted to a period we blush to chronicle, de- 
layed, no doubt, by a learned disquisition, poured forth by Mr. 
Grubbe, upon the home-made wines of Thebes, which ended just 
as they got to the top of the staircase, and stood once more, blink- 
ing and confused, in the glaring sunshine of a July afternoon. 
And terrible was the effect of the warm atmosphere upon their 
temperaments before a few minutes had passed. Whiz-z-z-z-z-z 
went their eyes and brains together ; the ships flew round 
and round like the revolving boats at Greenwich fair, and the 
warehouses heaved and rolled as the billows of the sea. It was 
with great difficulty, amidst this general houleversement of sur- 
rounding objects, that the two men of science staggered to the 
gate, and deposited themselves in the first omnibus that passed. 
They had not particularly inquired in what direction it was 
going ; and, in consequence, after much travelling, Mr. Grubbe 
was somewhat surprised to find the vehicle stop in Tottenham- 
court-road, when he expected to be at the White Horse Cellar. 
Eut he was in the humour for treating every mishap that might 
have occurred with exceeding levity ; and finding that the lo- 
cality suited his friend just as well, even better than Piccadilly, 
he wished him good-by very affectionately, and took advantage 



MR. GRUBBE'S NIGHT WITH MEMNON. 241 

of its proximity to pay a visit to his favourite British Museum, 
partly in the belief that its cool tranquillity would allay his 
cerebral excitement. 

He left his inseparable gingham umbrella — which answers 
the double purpose of keeping off the rain when open, and 
serving as a portmanteau of collected curiosities when shut — 
with the porter upon entering ; and then turned his steps to- 
wards the Egyptian Gallery, which was his usual lounge, still 
cherishing some vague notion that his skull had turned into a 
bag of hydrogen, so elastic and vivacious was his step. There 
were, as usual, a great many people gaping about and asking 
foolish questions of the attendant ; some mixing up the Sphynx 
with the fossils they had seen, and asking if it ever was alive ; 
others feeling rather afraid of going too near the mummies by 
themselves ; and the others lost in mental arguments as to 
whether the colossal fist of red granite was a thunderbolt or 
the hand of a petrified giant ; together with a great many ill- 
conducted little boys, with no veneration for antiquities, who 
laughed at the different objects as they would have done at any 
of Mr. "W. Bra dwell' s wondrous creations in pantomime. Heed- 
less of the visitors, Mr. Grubbe was soon lost in mighty specu- 
lations upon the mysterious productions by which he was sur- 
rounded ; and so continued until the constant shuffling of feet 
and increasing influx of strangers, whose inane remarks grated 
upon his learned ears, drove him from the block upon which 
he was sitting to some more remote corner of the gallery. En- 
sconcing himself in a recess behind one of the enormous heads, 
and screened by a sarcophagus, he fell into a fresh train of in- 
tense thought upon hieroglyphics in general, and those of 
mummies in particular. To this succeeded a confused picture 
of wine-vaults, pyramids, docks, claret casks, and megatheria; 
and finally, overcome by the influence of heat, fatigue, and the 
tasting-order, he fell fast asleep. 

How long he slumbered remains to this day a mystery, and 
probably ever will be so. But when he awoke, all was still and 
quiet as the interior of the Theban tombs ; the gallery was 
entirely deserted, and the moon was pouring a flood of light 
through the windows, which fell upon the statues and remains, 
rendering them still more cold and ghastly. In an instant the 
truth broke upon the unhappy antiquary : he had been over- 
looked when the Museum was cleared at seven o'clock, and 
was locked in— bolted, barred, almost hermetically shut up in 



242 WILD OATS. 

the gallery, in the most remote part of the building, with 
nothing but stony monsters and crumbling mortality for his 
associates ! Chilled to the heart with terror, despair, and the 
reaction of his previous excitement, he started from his corner 
with the intention of trying the doors, when his movement was 
arrested by the chime of a clock. He knew the sound well : 
it was the bell of St. George's, Bloomsbury, and it proclaimed 
the hour of twelve ! And he was there alone — alone, at mid- 
night, in the Egyptian chamber of the British Museum. In a 
frenzy of terror he rushed towards the large doors, in the hope 
of finding them open ; but they were fast closed, and he rattled 
the handles until the whole building rang again with the 
echoes. Hark! what was that sound? The echo had died 
away, and was now renewed, although he had desisted from his 
impotent attempts to gain some mode of egress. It sounded 
from above, and now came nearer and nearer, louder and louder, 
like the deadened and regular beat of muffled drums. There 
were footsteps too — he could plainly distinguish them, in au- 
dible progression, coming down stairs, and now a fearful spec- 
tacle met his horrified gaze. The immense marble scarabaeus 
on the floor of the gallery vibrated with incipient animation ; 
and then it stretched forth its huge feelers, and opened its 
massy wings, like a newly-born insect trying the properties of 
its novel limbs ; and next, with the heavy cumbrous motion 
of a tortoise, it crept across the floor, throwing back the moon- 
beams from its polished surface, towards the principal entrance 
of the gallery. Tramp, tramp, tramp, — onward came the noise, 
as of a great assembly, the drums still keeping up their mono- 
tonous accompaniment, and at last they approached close to 
the door, which quivered immediately afterwards with three 
loud knocks upon its panels from without. As the hapless Mr. 
Grubbe shrank still further into the recess, the large beetle 
scuffled nearer the door, and then raising one of its hideous 
feelers, it turned the handle. The gigantic granite first moved 
by itself towards the entrance, and repeated the signal on the 
panels ; and, at the last blow, a sound like the low rumbling of 
thunder echoed through the edifice, and the door flew open, 
admitting a glare of purple light, that for a few moments 
blinded the terrified intmder, whilst on either side the Memnon 
and the Sphynx retreated back against the wall to allow room 
for the dismal cortege that approached. 
The whole collection of mummy-cases in the rooms above 



ME. GKTJBBE'S NIGHT WITH MEMNON. 243 

had given up their inmates, who now glided down the staircase, 
one after another, to join their ancient compatriots of the 
gallery below, lifting up the covers of their painted tombs, and 
stretching out their pitched and blackened arms to welcome 
them. And next, the curious monsters with the birds' heads, 
who up to this moment had remained patiently sitting against 
the side of the room with their hands upon their knees, rose 
courteously to salute their visitors. The light which filled the 
apartment, although proceeding from no visible point, grew 
brighter and brighter, until it assumed the brilliancy of oxy- 
hydrogen, and when the last of the dusty and bandaged guests 
had arrived, the doors closed violently, and the orgies began. 
The figures in the pictures became animated and descended 
from the tablets, being by far the most attractive portion of 
the company, either male or female, as they were semblances 
of life, bearing amphorae of the choicest wine from the vine- 
yards of Memphis ; strange birds in long striped tunics, and 
stranger creations, whose shapes inherited an attribute of every 
class of the animal kingdom, acted as attendants, and obse- 
quiously waited upon the superior deities ; whilst the great 
feature of the gallery — the mystic, awe-inspiring Memnon, 
moved in stately progress to the end of the room, and com- 
menced pouring forth that wondrous harmony with which at 
sunrise and twilight he welcomes his early worshippers. Then 
commenced an unearthly galopade — a dreary carnival of the 
dead, to the music of their master, accompanied by the strange 
sounds of instruments brought by the mummies most inclined 
to conviviality from the glass-cases up stairs. But the strangest 
sight in the whole spectacle was the curious way in which Mr. 
Grubbe, despite his fears, perceived that they mingled ancient 
with modern manners when the dance came to an end. Some 
of the animated Egyptians betook themselves to pipes and 
beer ; others brought large aerolites from the different rooms, 
and began to play at ninepins with the inferior household gods 
of blue glazed clay ; one young Memphian even went so far as 
to thrust an enormous hook, as big as an anchor, through the 
body of the scarabseus, and then spin him at the end of a rope 
round the room ; and finally, they wheeled a sarcophagus into 
the centre of the gallery, and filled it with what Mr. Grubbe's 
nose told him was excellent mixed punch, which they tippled 
until the eyes of Memnon twinkled with conviviality, as he 
snuffed up the goodly aroma ; and at length, forgetting his 

e2 



244 WILD OATS. 

dignity altogether, volunteered to play the Aurora waltzes (in 
compliment of course to his mother) out of his head. The 
monumental punch-bowl was directly pushed on one side, and 
they began to dance again, Mr. Grubbe getting gradually more 
and more excited by the music, until, unable to contain himself 
any longer, he rushed from his recess, and seizing a fair young 
daughter of the Nile round the waist, was in an instant whirl- 
ing round in the throng of deities, mummies, hieroglyphics, 
ibises, and anomalous creations which composed the assembly. 
The hours flew along like joyous minutes, and still the un- 
earthly waltz was continued with persisting energy, until Mr. 
Grubbe's brain became giddy and bewildered. His strength 
also began to fail, in spite of the attractions of his young Mem- 
phienne, whose soft downy cheeks, roguish kissable lips, and 
supernaturally sparkling eyes, had for a time made him forget 
his age. He requested her to stop in their wild gyrations, but 
she heeded him not ; breathless and exhausted, he was pulled 
round and round, whilst the Memnonian orchestra played itself 
louder and louder, until at length, losing all power, he fell 
down in the midst of the dancers. Twenty others, who had 
been twirling onwards, not perceiving their prostrate companion, 
immediately lost their footing ; and finally, the whole assembly, 
like so many bent cards, giddy with wine and excitement, bun- 
dled one over the other, the unfortunate antiquary being the 
undermost of the party. In vain he struggled to be free — each 
moment the pressure of the superincumbent Egyptians in- 
creased ; until, in a last extremity — unable to breathe, bruised 
by their legs and arms, and half-suffocated with mummy-dust 
— he gave a few fruitless gasps for air, and then became in- 
sensible. 

It was broad daylight when he once more opened his eyes ; 
and the motes were dancing in the bright morning sunbeams 
that darted into the gallery. There were sounds of life and 
motion, too, on every side (although no one had as yet entered 
the apartment), and the rumble of distant vehicles in the 
streets. It was some little time before Mr. Grubbe could col- 
lect his ideas, for his brain was still slightly clouded — his lips 
also were parched, and his eyeballs smarting with the revelry 
of the night. But there he still was, in the room, surrounded 
by his late company, although they had now resumed their 
usual situations ; the Memnon and the Sphynx were vis-a-vis, 
and the scarabseus in his customary place, as cold and inani- 



ME. GRTJBBE's NIGHT WITH MEMNON". 245 

mate as ever ; whilst the gigantic fist had once more taken 
possession of its pedestal, and the gentlemen with the curious 
heads were sitting with their hands upon their knees in their 
wonted gravity. But, notwithstanding all this chill reality, the 
antiquary's mind was in a tumult of excitement. The dim un- 
dying magic of ancient Egypt was still in force, unconquered 
by time or distance. He had been admitted to the orgies of 
Memnon ; he had watched the revelries and manners of the 
hitherto mysterious race ; above all, he had gleaned information 
for a paper that would bring the Society of Antiquaries at his 
feet in wondrous veneration ! 

The doors were, ere long, thrown open, and Mr. Grubbe left 
the gallery unnoticed. On arriving at Brompton, he found 
Mrs. "Weston in a state of extreme terror and exhaustion, 
having watched the whole night for her master's return, that 
worthy gentleman never having passed so long a period from 
home. He retired immediately to his study, and laboured 
until dusk with unceasing industry ; and from that period 
Egypt alone occupied his thoughts. He thought of nothing 
else by day, and dreamed of that subject only at night. The 
subject grew beneath his hands and ideas, and what with the 
circumstances he imagined, and those he dreamed about — for 
in his labours he ever confounded them together — the work is 
still unfinished ; and he will not give it to the world in an im- 
perfect condition, although his most intimate friends already 
fear that his application is affecting his brain. But when his 
task is concluded, great will be his triumph : he will have fur- 
nished — at least such is his expectation — a key to all the 
mystic customs of the early Nile ; the hidden lore of Memphis 
will be unravelled to the million ; he will walk abroad a thing 
for men to gaze at and reverence ; and his name will go down 
to posterity in company with Memnon and the Great Pyramid. 

These are his own anticipations. His intimate friends have 
only one hope — that he will be spared from Bedlam sufficiently 
long to perfect his colossal undertaking ; and that on no ac- 
count will he be induced any more to venture with a tasting- 
order to the docks. 



( 246 ) 



XXX. 

ADDRESS SPOKEN BY MRS. KEELEY 

ON THE FIRST REPRESENTATION OF 
"MAETLN" CnUZZLEWIT," 

At the Lyceum Theatre, July 8, 1844. 

Wo ghostly legend cull'd from mouldy page, 
And " carefully adapted to the stage ;" 
No grand romantic drama, deep and dire, 
Pilled with " terrific combats" and red fire, 
Boast we to-night. No flimsy plot shall trench 
Upon our scene " translated from the French ;" 
But one in deep emotions far more rife — 
The powerful romance of common life ! 

"We owe this story of the present hour 
To that great master hand, whose graphic power 
Can call up laughter, bid the tear-drop start, 
And find an echoing chord in every heart. 
One we have learned to deem a household friend, 
"Who, 'midst his varied writings, never penn'd 
One line that might his guileless pages spot, 
One word that " dying he would wish to blot." 

"We know there is around his simple name 
A prestige thrown, your sympathies to claim; 
But our poor playwright, feeling well his task, 
Has sent me forth your clemency to ask. 
And some old friends, selected from the rest— 
Of human kind the sweetest and the best- 
Presuming on the fellowship of yore, 
Crowd forth, your patient hearing to implore. 

Good Mr. Pickwiclc first, with smiling face 
And kindly heart, implores your patient grace ; 



AX>DEESS SPOKEN BT MES. KEELEY. 247 

Then arm in arm, led onwards by one will, 
The Brothers Clieeryble endorse our bill, 
And warm by kindness, ever both alike, 
The timid hopes of poor neglected SmiJce ; 
"Whilst not unmindful of your past kind deeds, 
Oliver Twist next for indulgence pleads. 
Dick Swiveller, who has crept here by stealth, 
" Passes the rosy" ere he drinks your health, 
Surrounded by those friends we know so well, 
"Watch' d over by the shade of Little Nell. 
Next laughing at Joe Willett in our train, 
Dear Dolly Varden flirts, and laughs again, 
And hopes your pleasure will not be alloyed 
Because she knows that Miggs will be annoyed. 
And lastly, whilst around both cot and hall 
The echoes of the Christmas Carol fall, 
Dob CratcTiet on raised wages, spruce and trim, 
Leads forwards, with his crutch, poor Tiny Tim, 

The others are to come. In anxious state 
Eehind the scenes your fiat they await. 
Be satisfied, for yours and their behoof, 
They'll do the best they can ; now to the proof! 



( 248 ) 



XXXI. 

THE DILIGENCE. 
A SKETCH ON THE KOAD, 

" Allons, messieurs, montez ! Monsieur Schmeet ! Numero 
un!" 

There is no response. 

" Monsieur Smeece !" 

Still no rejoinder. 

" Monsieur Schmits !" cried the conducteur, after an oath; 
and then, having some vague idea that "Smith" is the name 
intended, and that it must be meant for ourselves, we climb up 
the step, and tumble down into the corner of the interieur, 
doomed to be our prison for the next thirty hours. 

Thirty hours ! All the people now clustering about the office 
will dine, and go to bed, and sleep, and get up again, and dine 
once more, and we shall still be in that corner ! That foreign 
gentleman in spectacles and a felt hat, without a shirt-collar, 
who has not washed his face, and is breakfasting from a 
cigarette, will get through the day at his " bureau," and idle 
away the evening at his cafe, and sleep — the chimney-pots only 
know where — and perhaps be here again to-morrow morning : 
and the corner will still contain us ! They have written up over 
the door, "Dijon in thirty hours!" as if it was an achievement 
of rapidity. "We look upon it with different views ; to us it only 
suggests a note of alarm instead of admiration, that we have all 
that time to pass before we get there. 

The lading is completed. The men have pulled tight the 
leathern rick-cloth-looking coverlid by the thongs and iron 
rings ; the three leaders are fighting and neighing, and being 
sworn at by the postilion, as they try to turn round and run 
against their own splinter-bars; the passengers have all 
climbed into their respective places, and settled down in them 
hopelessly, as though they meant to grow there for ever ; the 
conducteur mounts on to the box — he will not come into the 
banquette until night approaches — with his portfolio between 
his teeth ; and at last we are off. 






THE DILIGENCE. 249 

" Hi !" The huge whip cracks like a succession of dis- 
charges from a mighty electrifying machine, as we lumber 
round the corner, and every thin pane of glass in the hatter's 
shop rattles with the vibration of our great vehicle over the 
stones. The signs, and names, and people who come to the 
door to see us pass, go by like objects in a magic lantern. We 
catch them rapidly one after another — " Nouveautes et 
Rouenneries." "Cachot, Perblantier-Lampiste en tous genres." 
" A la Ville de Lyon." " Cafe du Midi." " Boidart-Minet, Mar- 
chand de Yins, en gros et en detail." " Au Sanglier. Charcu- 
terie." " Maison succursale de la Belle Jardiniere : Yetements 
d'homme: grand choix de vingt-cinq mille paletots de Paris" — 
and then more streets, and gapers, and carts that will get in 
the way, and rattling shop-windows, and oaths, and whip deto- 
nations, until we squeeze through a small arch, about half the 
size every way of the diligence, and emerge into the country, 
when the excitement suddenly ceases, and the pace drops from 
the display of the streets to the heavy six miles an hour that 
we are doomed to for the rest of the journey. "We look for the 
first time at our companions. They are all foreign ; and, as 
such, have crammed the straps of the roof with those wonderful 
caps, baskets, sticks, umbrellas, and odd parcels, that you only 
see abroad. An old man is opposite to us, with a black velvet 
cap and snuffy neckcloth tie : and we know we shall have many 
encounters with his legs during the night. Then there is a 
woman in a cap, who appears to be going hundreds of miles 
with no other luggage than a bird-cage and a basket, in which 
last are some sour plums and pieces of bread. Next to us is a 
dirty man with a velveteen coat and two days' beard, who has 
been eating garlic, and has no luggage at all. And the other 
passengers are two fat women, who will look worse, we know, 
when they wake up in the morning than it is possible to con- 
ceive. 

"Why do all French women get so fat and hideous, and have 
the air of sinking at once into monthly nurses after they turn 
forty ? The matron, who forms so beautiful a class of our un- 
equalled English females, is not known amongst them : the 
"grosse maman" of Paul de Kock and Daumier is really and 
truly their only phase of maturity. They can't help it, to be 
sure ; but they might avoid light jean trodden-over boots and 
short petticoats under similar circumstances. 

" Hi !" We are crawling on. The people have pulled up all 



250 WILD OATS. 

the windows, to stew and swelter according to their wont ; for 
your foreigners have a great dislike to fresh air. We have, 
however, the command of one pane, and we let this down, and 
resolutely keep it so ; it is more agreeable, even with the dust 
and flies. 

Oh ! don't begin to talk, there's good people : your conver- 
sation is as wearying and uninteresting as that of farmers in an 
up Monday morning train. "We know all you are about to 
say; you are sure to tell one another where you have come 
from and where you are going to ; and it is all nothing when 
we know. Your affairs, too, have little moment in them. Do 
you imagine, madame, that it can possibly beguile our time, or 
interest us, to know that you have a sister married at Dole, 
and that last year she went for two weeks with her husband to 
Paris ? We shall not utter any of those exclamations of sur- 
prise at the remarkable occurrence that your compatriots will ; 
tell them, and they will be astonished ; but don't bore us. It 
is nothing to go to Paris — it is not, indeed; even the Lord 
Mayor did it the other day. And what is there in the fact of 
your married sister living at Dole ? She must live somewhere ; 
and why not there ? It is a dull, common-place town enough. 
If she had chosen to live half way down the crater of Vesuvius, 
the position might have interested us. 

They are all off; and now they won't stop for some hours. 
The old man in the velvet cap informs the society that he has 
something the matter with his skin, and is going to some famous 
baths in consequence. We don't see the necessity of his men- 
tioning that ; but immediately all the others tell him that they 
have had relations with refractory skins, and each recommends 
a different course ; and this pleasing subject, and the observa- 
tions it gives rise to, last full two hours. 

"Hi!" Still the monotonous cry of the postilion, and the 
djing-djing-djing of the bells on the horses' headpieces, as 
they walk at a snail's pace up a small rise. A miserable 
beggar knows they always walk up here, so he lies in wait at 
the bottom, and whines by our side all the way to the top. 
Presently we come to an inn where they change. We are 
hurried into a rude salle-a-manger, where there is feeble soup 
and tasteless bouilli, and something very nasty made with veal, 
and a thin warm fowl with cold water-cresses, and some hard 
pears and rough wine and sourish bread, and three francs to 
pay. But we eat eagerly and pay cheerfully ; anything for a 



THE DILIGENCE. 251 

relief from the dusty interieur ! Only the coupe dines with us ; 
the others have some potage and an omelette, and pay sixteen 
sous, at a side-table. One woman — she with the unripe plums 
— makes a light repast without leaving the diligence; and 
another, in the rotonde, finishes a hard-boiled egg, which she 
has fished up from amongst the cherries, rags, birdseed, and 
chocolate crumbs of her basket. At last the sun goes out of 
our eyes, and night comes on ; the passengers have got quiet — 
some of them, even now, are having a dusty doze ; and we 
begin to think about sleep. 

Only to think about it, though. "We never yet slept in a car- 
riage, and we don't suppose this night will be different to the 
others. The corner is uncomfortable ; you can't lay your head 
against it for your shoulders, and the loop at the side of the 
window is too high up, or too low down. At 'all events, it is 
useless ; for when you put your elbow in it and rest your head 
upon your hand, and you think you are all right, it flies away 
and lets your face down suddenly, and chucks your chin, per- 
haps, and you are much worse off than ever. All the old pro- 
gramme is gone through once more. Tou arrange your legs 
with your neighbour for the fiftieth time, and place your cheek 
gravely and philosophically against the side of the vehicle, and 
say to yourself, " Now I will go to sleep." But we do not, 
still. After flattering ourselves that we are falling off gently, 
we open our eyes, which we closed to strengthen the belief, and 
find that we are as wide awake as ever ; and so, for a little 
diversion, we wind up our watch, rearrange our legs, and then 
shut our eyes again. Nearly off, by Jove ! "We lost our train 
of thought, and fancied we were in another place, surrounded 
by strange people. Can we have been asleep long ? Alas, no ; 
our watch has not made half a minute since we wound it up, 
and we are more wakeful than ever. The chins of our fellow- 
passengers have dropped upon their breasts, and they are dream- 
ing. Eor us, we can still hear the " Hi !" of the postilion 
and the djing-djing-djing of the rumbles. And yet we are 
desperately tired. A sofa, a rug — nay, the boards, with some- 
thing to put our head upon — would be paradise. 
^ It is very evident that we cannot go to sleep leaning on our 
right side, so we turn over on our left. That will do beautifully. 
No it won't ; it is not so comfortable as the other. Then we 
Bit upright, and lean our head back, as if we were going to have 
a tooth out ; that is worse than all. Oh dear ! oh dear ! we 



252 WILD OATS. 

could kick all the people violently in our watchful irritability 
How nice it would be to be in bed ! 

At last we get into a wide-awake, dogged, open-eyed state of 
watchfulness that lasts quite through the night. We are re- 
conciled now ; we shall not sleep, and so we bear it patiently, 
in that dead calm of irritation which attends the later stages of 
the nettle-rash, after having scratched your wealed skin raw 
with a comb, or raised it to red heat with your hardest hair- 
brush. Heigho ! we give a long, wearied yawn, and look out 
at the stars, for we do not even shut our eyes now — we have 
found out the failure. 

Gaunt trees pass the windows in endless processions ; thus 
we go through a village, locked in repose, with nobody stirring 
but the man with the lantern at the relais. The lamp of the 
diligence shines on a board, and we read " Messageries Gene- 
rales de Caillard et C ie , Rue Saint-Honore, JSTo. 130, Paris." 
"We have read that often before, but we have nothing else to do. 
There is a clumping about of wooden shoes, a dialogue in a rude, 
incomprehensible patois, a neighing and fighting of the leaders, 
a string of French oaths, and then the postilion once more 
cries " Hi !" and the bells jingle as we are on the road again. 

At last morning comes — there is one consolation, it always 
must, if you wait for it — and we can see our companions, in- 
cluding the new one, who came in in the night, when the dirty 
man got out. They are wonderfully wrapped up, and do not 
look pretty ; but we expect we are nothing remarkable ourself. 
Our eyes are smarting, and we feel caked with dust — French 
dust, too — not common road powder, but plaster of Paris, that 
would take a mould of our face if it came on to rain. 

"We come to a long hill, and the conducteur asks us to walk 
up it. Not very conscious of what we are about, we join in the 
blushing train of scaramouches who follow the diligence ; and 
then, at the top, climbing and diving once more into our destined 
corner, we rearrange our legs with our vis-a-vis, dry-rub our face 
with a pocket-handkerchief, and prepare for six hours more 
misery, whilst the postilion still cries " Hi !" and there is no 
cessation to the djing-djing-djing of the bells. 



( 253 ) 



XXXII. 

CUCUMBER CASTLE. 

The following squib was privately printed, immediately after 
the opening of the Crystal Palace in 1854. It has never before 
been publicly circulated, but is now reproduced to show how 
very truly all its prophecies have been carried out. 

"What has been the end, in the Crystal Palace, of all the non • 
sense which various solemn noodles talked about " the cultiva- 
tion of Art amongst the People" — whose palace it was stated to 
be — the unfortunate shareholders know too well. It has come 
down, and come down badly, to a mere trysting-place for an 
out-of-town holiday — and certainly a very pleasant one, which 
might still be made a great deal better : its only hope. The 
brilliant success of the original Exhibition in 1851 had nothing 
in the world to do with "Art" and " The People." It was a 
charming novelty — it was in an admirable position, where folks 
have ever loved to congregate, even in its normal state ; and it 
was to be kept open only for a time, and that time during the 
blaze of the London season. And most beautiful, in truth, it 
was ; but " Art" had nothing to do with its success, or its 
results. After all its pottery puffs, "The People" still clung 
to the Toby Philpot brown jugs and willow pattern plates, as 
they do still. 

Every show since started on the Art-cant principle has been 
a failure, simply because the really common-place and unsugges- 
tive, people whose names have become wound up with its direc- 
tion, from nobody caring to oppose them, do not understand 
what the public — not " The People" — will pay for. New York, 
Dublin, and Manchester have failed, or barely cleared their 
expenses, and now another is again talked of in Loudon ! 
And another beyond that; and avowedly for our old friends 
." The People" again, in a remote northern region somewhere 
on the road to Hertfordshire, called Muswell Hill. If it is for 
" The People," it will, of course, be open for nothing (for they 
will not pay to go anywhere where they are bored), and this is 



254 WILD OATS. 

very kind of the company who have undertaken to erect it. But 
if any charge is made, "The People" will most likely prefer 
Highbury Barn, where they can amuse themselves, if they 
please, as they like. 

After all, Mr. G-ye's Moral Hall, which has nothing to do 
with " Art" or "The People"— in spite of its doubtful prestige 
derived from that scene of comfort and refinement, the Volun- 
teers' Ball — will be quite as beautiful, and more accessible, than 
anything else. No fuss has been made about it, and nobody 
will be let in for "shares." The friends of " The People" at 
present appear to think that " Art," like cucumbers, can only 
be brought to perfection under glass. 

programme. 

SCENE — The Interior of the Crystal Palace on the 10th oj 
June. There are a great many People assembled; some are 
very nice indeed, more are very common-place, and many 
excite doubts as to their having paid their two guineas for the 
Season Tickets, bearing a great resemblance to upper-box orders 
out for the day. Several Gentlemen, in evening costume, are 
charming ; several more, in unwonted Court attire, are very 
uncomfortable. 

CHORUS of Discontented People. 

Oh, dear ! what can the matter be ? 
Hear, hear ! what can that clatter be ? 
Dear, dear ! each will mad as a hatter be — 

Why are we seated out here ? 
"We paid our two guineas to place us in clover, 
But now the baize barrier we may not climb over ; 
Eor the sight, we might all just as well be at Dover, 

Or sitting on Hungerford Pier ! 
Oh, dear ! <fec. 

LAUGHING- CHORUS— " Per JFreyschutz." 

DlEECTORS. 

"Why, good people, are you raving ? 
Eor our friends the seats we're saving; 
You are let in here to-day 



CUCUMBER CASTLE. 255 

Offensive Paety. 
"Let in !" — yes, you well may say! 

DlEECTOES. 

Never mind — you've had to pay ! 

Ha, ha, ha, ha ! &c. 

GEAKD MAECH— u Norma Vieni." 

The sun hursts through the Crystal roof, as The Queen 
enters, with a brilliant army of attendant sprites. The 
Directors betray nervousness, as well as the Authors. 

SONG— Me. Laing. 

(To the Heads of the Departments?) 

Aie — " To all you ladies now on land" (or, more po- 
pularly, to the celebrated Cantata, " The Whale," as 
sung by M. Billet Roussel, the present primo tenore 
at the Theatre de la Guerre, Varna). 

The highest Lady in the land 

Will now your Handbooks take. 
In walking back, pray understand, 

That no faux pas you make, 

Brave boys ! 

With a fal lal, lal, lal, la, la, la ! <fec. 

Th' occasion for the greatest care 

And best attention begs, 
Lest any one should chance to get 
His sword between his legs, 

Brave boys ! 
"With a fal lal, lal, lal, la, la, la ! &c. 

DUBIOUS CHOEUS of Peesentees oe Handbooks. 

Aie — " Such a getting upstairs." 

Such a getting up-stairs, such a bowing in the middle, 

Such a kneeling at the top, I never did see ! 
Such a backing down stairs— quite an acrobatic riddle ! 

If it's toilsome to Breadalbane, oh ! what must it be to me ? 



256 WILD OATS. 

Me. Laing now advances, and sings to Her Majesty the 
following well-known Air ; from " JBombastes Furioso." 

AIK — Me. Laing. 
Aie — " What will your Majesty please to wear ?" 

Here will your Majesty please to turn, 

And Mr. Fuller's medals take, 
"Whose general eye o'er the whole concern 

Has for some months kept him wide awake ? 

SONG— Me. Fullee. 
Aie—" Jolly Noser 

Jolies choses you here see 'neath the Palace of Glass, 

All beauties of form and of colour ; 
And the greater the labour, I find come to pass, 

The fuller I fill it— Prank Puller ! 

Jolies choses! jolies choses! 

Jolies choses are displayed in your Majesty's sight, 
Por instruction in science and art meant, 

And these medals I tender as having a right 
To meddle with ev'ry department. 

Jolies choses ! jolies choses ! 

AIE {repeated) — Me. Laing. 

Here will your Majesty please to look ; 

Sir Joseph Paxton now presents 
The Crystal Palace's History book, 

Of how it was built, and at what expense. 

EECITATIYE— Sie Joseph Paxton. 

This is the House that Joe built. 

And this is the book, if in it you look, 
That describes the House that Joe built ; 

And its height immense, and its lavish expense, 
And its horticultural ornaments 
(Though we dare not say that we think it will pay, 
But the best shall be done in the newspaper way), 



CUCUMBER CASTLE. 257 

And its acres of glass, and gardens and grass, 

And frescoes and models, and illustrious noddles, 

And stuffed bears and lynxes, and palm-trees and sphynxes, 

And lightly-clad figures of Earthmen and niggers, 

And temples and shops, and statues and strops, 

And its things for sale, and pints of pale ale, 

That lay in the House that Joe built ! 



AIE {repeated) — Me. Lain g. 

Here will your Majesty please incline ? 

Here's Owen Jones, who's quite at home 
(Though not in an ambassadorial line) 

With the Courts of Alhambra, Greece, and Eome. 

Me. Owen Jones advances, gracefully dancing a bolero, 
preceded by the Corps de Ballet of the Moyal Italian 
Opera, Covent Garden, specially drilled for the occasion 
by Mr. A. Karris. 



PAS MATJEESQUE. 

At the conclusion of which, Me. Owen Jones thus 
declaims : 

"Where the Vega of Granada all its gushing wealth displays, 
And the snows of the Nevada temper summer's fervent rays, 
Where along the Alpuxarras little rills run drivelling cool ; 
And his mother to Boabdil said, " Shut up, you snivelling 
fool!" 

Where the wizard, David Eoberts, took those views beyond 
compare, 

And the less ambitious Burford brought the spot to Leicester- 
square, 

Where the silver- winding Xenil through the plains and gardens 
smiles, 

There I found my bricks and borders — thence I brought my 
tints and tiles. 



258 WILD OATS. 

'Tis my hobby, and I ride it ; but without me, all may see, 
"Who would bring out Longman's Missals — where would Jul- 

lien's Albums be? 
Gold leaf, green, cobalt, vermilion — leaves and cherries, fresh 

and bright ; 
Put me by the side of Sang — the leaden-hued by candlelight ! 

Crabbed minds may say mine is not like the Lion's Court at 

ail- 
That the fountain's too extensive, or the alcoves are too 

small ; — 
Never mind — I've been and done it, — jealous eyes may pry and 

quiz: 
Bound by columns, rods, and girders, they must take it as 

it is. 

Though the gold leaf sized upon it has a pretty penny cost, 
That the shareholders may settle — my great chance has not 

been lost. 
Mine the pride, and mine the glory, of these colours, tints, and 

tones : 
Please to recollect the name — not Owen Swift, but Owen 

Jones. 

The Gitanas form a circle round him, under cover of 
which he retreats. 

AIB (repeated) — Me. Laing. 

Here will your Majesty please behold 

Digby Wyatt, who's got by heart 
A Court-Guide of Pompeii old, 

And all the Courts of Christian art ? 

Me. Digby "Wyatt advances with "true courtly grace" (as 
the newspapers observed), and sings the following : 

SONG— Me. Digby Wyatt. 
Aie — " II segreto per esser felice" 

So great is the lesson I teach ye, 

I scarcely know where to begin ; 
Byzantium, Paris, Portici, 

Are all to my service pressed in ; 



CUCUMBER CASTLE. 259 

I have Courts Mediaeval, Renaissance — 

What that means I have not time to explain ; 

So at once will I make my obeisance, 
And back myself down stairs again. 

At the conclusion, Me. Digby Wyatt hacks down with 
great success, amidst the cheers of the Spectators, after a 
course of six lessons from Herr Deani (not Johnny), the 
celebrated Sprite, who comes backwards down stairs on a 
globe. 

H.B. — About this time, The Qtjeen begins to be rather 
bored, but with graceful courtesy suppresses the 
yawn. 

AIR (repeated)— Mb. Ladtg. 

These will your Majesty please to read ? 

Samuel Phillips* has compiled 
General Handbooks, suited indeed 

To the grown-up man or the sensible child. 

Me. Phillips advances very imposingly, in a costume some' 
thing between that of an Undergraduate and Zamiel. 

SONG— Me. Phillips. 

Air — " Nix my doily" 

At books in which the minor fry 

Hank nonsense scribble, the Times and I 

Blaze away ; 
"With my sharp steel pen, for slaughter ripe, 
Through a column or two of well-spaced type, 

Oh ! isn't it jolly to blaze away ? 

Isn't it jolly to blaze away ? 

Choehs and Dance of Mr. Phillips, Ambassadors, M.P.s, 
Shareholders, and all the Company in the reserved 
places : 

Oh \ isn't it jolly to blaze away ? 

* The late amiable and gifted literary critic of the Times. 

82 



260 WILD OATS. 

And if such knowledge you would diffuse, 
Unfettered let every kind of news 

Make a way — 
The penny take off from the news-sheet damp, 
Which at present is not of a popular stamp ; 

Oh ! it would be jolly to take it away, 

It would be jolly to take it away ! 

Chorus and Dance as lefore ; during which, Me. Phillips 
dances down. 



AIE (repeated) — Me. Laing. 

This will your Majesty please peruse ? 

Layard's Assyrian Gazetteer ; 
But another has modelled the Doctor's views, 

For Mr. Fergusson does lodge here. 

Me. Feegttsscxn' advances, ill at ease. 



SONG— Me. Feegusson. 

Nueseey Ehtme — " DicJcery, dickery, doclcP 

Diggery, diggery, dirt, 

Stripped to the sleeves of your shirt ; 

"We've long since begun, 

And for ages to run 
'Twill be diggery, diggery, dirt. 

In retreating, Me. Feegttsson gets still more nervous, and 
at last, in his confusion, turns round three times, throws 
four somersets, pitches a pie, cuts sice, and ultimately goes 
round on his hands and legs like a wheel, and so exits, 
amidst loud applause. 

AIE (repeated) Me. Laikg. 

Here will your Majesty please to own 
Professor Owen (not Owen-ap-Jones) ? 

As the " Antediluvian Pell" he's known, 
He's so uncommonly great on bones. 



CUCUMBER CASTLE. 261 

DUET — Pbofessoe Owen and Me. "Watebhouse 
Hawkins. 

Air—" The Monks of old ^ 

P. 0. 'Tis here we unfold what monsters of old 

"Were masters of earth and sea ; 
"W. H. And what we don't know of their colours, we show 

As we think they were likely to be. 
P. 0. Megatheria laughed and Iguanodons chaffed 
"W. H. At the Ichthyosaurus's fears ; 
P. 0. And they shrieked ha-r-r-ha-r-r ! 
"W". H. And they squeaked ha-r-r-ha-r-r ! 
Ensemble. In the Antediluvian years. 

Heb Majesty being graciously pleased to encore this Duet, 
they sing it again, and then retire with their arms over one 
another's shoulders, like Acrobats after they have made 
their low at the lamps. 

AIR {repeated) — Mb. Laing. 

Here will your Majesty please to scan 

Books of ethnological lore, 
"With every sort of plant and man 

Described as never they were before ? 

AEIA — Pboeessob Foebes. 

Aib—" Guy FawJces" 

"We've here Saforthia elegans, Sparmannia Africana, 
The Phoenicc dactylifera, Sabal Blachburniana ; 
Strange lilies will the water deck, when in the tanks we let it ; 
But a little thing prevents us, for as yet we cannot get it. 
But they'll grow, grow, grow, 
And have a great blow out, and blossom afleur d'eau. 

SONG— Db. Latham. 

Aib — "A man's a man for a' that" 

Oh ! why should prudish folks pretend 
To turn the head, and a' that, 



262 WELP Oki 

Erom my collection made of men 
"Wliite. black, and red. : . ..' Art? 

Tor a' rhs:. and a" that, 

Tax:; rzij. -;:.:^t. a:.d :.' :h;.: : 

Ehoogli :__; - i tug be in Ms nose, 
A man's a man for a' fct 

POLACCA— Mm. Lxmmo. 

Very good K -_- — "riy we 

Heads of departments every : 

CHOErS ^ People. 
Heads of deparrn enJEs every one, 

"We're very glad yon hare all of yon done ! 

CHOEUS of Heads of Pepaetmests (desponding! y) . 

Snch i getting down stairs, snch a stumbling in the middle. 

Sncli crab-like locomotion, vre never did see ; 
And after presfi_:..7::::. >nly greatei is : he riddle, 

"Wlia: g:cd :r use re any ?ne such etiquette 2an be. 

BENEDICTION— Tee Aeckbishop or CASTEEErBT. 

(We are requested to repel, on authority and with indig- 
nation, the report that the Archbishop of Canterbury it 
open to engagements, during the ensuing season, to bless 
ike JZoskt .'.': 3.izaar. Cremorne, Cooke's Circus, High- 
bury Bam. the Lowther Arcade, the Pantheon Conserva- 
VauxkaUj Madame Tussaud's, the Wellington 
Z ing-rooms, the Plaster -cast Shops in Ihury-iane, or 
any other shows that in their aggregate mug form ike 
Crystal Palace?) 

God bless the aeaaon-i rlls, 

God bless the sbiilii g 3 
God bless the water-pots :.nd wells, 

G-od bless the scarlet baize ! 

God bless the man who rents a space, 

e ginger-pop. 
God bless bold Spiers and his ea.se, 
Bless Mechi's a :rop ! 



CUCU3IBER CASTLE. 263 

God bless the road — God bless the rail — 

God bles3 the Sheffield wares — 
God grant there may not be much hail— 

And oh ! God bless the shares ! 

At the conclusion of the Benediction, clouds ohscure the 
entire building, and the Old Hundredth is heard — By 
degrees the mists disperse, and disclose a 

GRAND ALLEGORICAL TABLEAU, 



THE FUTTJBE! 

The fountains "burst forth, and arches of flowers rise round 
the icalks in which the People are enjoying tea, with 
shrimps, at ninepence a head, preparatory to the Grand 
Display of Fireworks on the Model Picture of Constanti- 
nople during the Bamazan, at the end of the Gardens, 
under the direction of Cheyalier Mortram. 

The Old Directors, disgusted at the progressive attraction 
for the Beople, of the refreshments and amusements over 
the Love-of-the-Fine-Arts-Inculcation Departments, have 
retired ; and their places are now supplied hy Messrs. 
War dell, Simpson, Tyler, Jullien, Laurent, and Franconi, 
ichose experiences in catering for the essential shillings 
are producing a rich harvest. 

The Pompeii Booms are turned into " Cabinets Barticu- 
Hers" for suppers, Sfc. 

In the Boman and Greek Courts, Madame Wharton ex- 
hibits her Poses Plastiques — with the most severe regard 
to decency — every day. at 12, 3, and 8. 

The Centre Transept forms a beautiful Ball-Boom, under 
the direction of M. Laurent, of the Argyle Rooms. 
Masters of the Ceremonies : Messrs. Mott, Frere, and 
Gouriet. 

The Fgyptian Jugglers in the Temple of Abou-Simbel, every 
evening at 9 ; and the Great Nineveh Necromancer, in 
the Fnchanted Palace of the Winged Bulls, at intervals. 



264 WILD OATS. 

Br. KaJin having louglit the 'Ethnological Parties, their 
places are supplied by the Zulus, Farthmen, Aztecs, Bos- 
jesmen, Esquimaux, and others — all alive. 

Unparalleled "Feat of Selling Seven Hundred Muslin 
Bresses in Seven- Minutes, by the Bouncing Brothers of 
Barege. 

Terrific Bescent of Joel II Biavolo, on a single wire, from 
the Centre Transept to the Sydenham Station; Grand 
Fine Art Bistribution of Blaster Casts by Tickets in the 
Wheel of Fortune ; American Bowling Alleys ; Shooting 
Gallery of Moving Hares; Swings and Moundabouts, 
horizontal and perpendicular ; Climbing the Greased 
Statues of Barneses for a Shoulder of Mutton, — and a 
variety of other attractions too numerous to mention. 

GEAJND FINALE by One Hundred Thousand Voices : 
God save the Queen ! 



A WORD TO THE DIRECTORS. 

Gentlemen, — You have, beyond all doubt, observed that the 
two great attractions at present in the Crystal Palace are the 
Dinners and the Brass Band. There is no mistake about this. 
It may be humiliating to the lover of the Fine Arts, but, never- 
theless, it is hard truth. All the newspaper paragraphs in the 
world can't alter this. 

The people — a vague class, but, I suppose in your classifica- 
tion, one comprising those who can pay a shilling at your show 
(and, in serious truth, a most beautiful one it is), care more 
for amusement than instruction. I watched them for more 
than two hours the other day. They wandered and wondered, 
and occasionally gaped; but when the band struck up, or a 
visitor played an attractive polka in the Music Court, they 
hurried off at once in that direction, and the gates of the Bap- 
tistery, or the Earnese Bull, might have gone to Hades for 
aught they cared, until the music was over. You must, I 
repeat, amuse them; and you must not talk nonsense about 
" position" and " high aims." There is nothing so silly in any 



CUCUMBER CASTLE. 265 

suburban tea-gardens, as that collection of bogies and stuffed 
things near the dining place; where you may sit amongst 
camellias, and look at a bear climbing over an iceberg of 
whitewashed something sprinkled with Epsom salts ; or watch 
a party of dirty aborigines — you don't care where from — doing 
something, you don't care what — as you enjoy your excellent 
lobster salad, or really good three-and-sixpenny claret. That's 
the hit of the whole show — Nimrod, Phidias, Sesostris, and the 
Parthenon into the bargain. 

Pray, pray be honest. Say boldly that your undertaking is a 
mere commercial, City speculation, in the hardest, clearest 
sense — that all your newspaper puffs are only other ways of 
shouting, " Walk up, ladies and gentlemen !" Your sole aim is 
to collect the halfpence — " Twopence more, and up go the 
fountains !" You showed this too palpably in your Handbook 
mistake, when, at the very opening of the Palace, you removed 
all the names from the busts and statues, to force the sale of 
the catalogues. And don't call it " The People's Palace." 
Why is it " The People's Palace ?" What have they had to do 
with it ? — what have they now ? — what will they ever have ? 
It is quite beautiful enough to stand on its own merits without 
all that cant. 

There are so many excellently-good fellows holding situations 
about your establishment — names widely known and affec- 
tionately esteemed — that the success of the Crystal Palace is 
the wish of everybody. If you find the people merely walk 
through the courts and say " How pretty!" — as five minutes' 
observation will show you they do — don't get angry and drag 
tjiem back, and say to them, " You shall be elevated," because, if 
you bore them in that way, they won't come again. Watch 
which way their likings incline, and gratify those likings. 
You will only bewilder that old lady, who has come up with a 
basket from Banbury, by endeavouring to rnrike her take home 
a clear notion of the Byzantine and Eenaissance styles of 
architecture. 

If your only aim is " to inspire the masses with a love of 
art," go on as you are now going. But if you don't want to 
lose all your money, attract the public by every possible means. 
You have much to combat, and above all things, the distance 
from town. There is no blinking the fact. There is as much 
looking at your watch, and calculating the time, and squabbling 
with cabs, and struggling through the City, and waiting at the 



256 WILD OATS. 

station, as if you were going to Folkestone — with the exception 
that in the latter case you are on the South-Eastern line, and in 
the other you are on the Brighton, which is not quite so pre- 
ferable. 

Tour obedient, humble servant, 

"William Jones. 



GRATIFYING COBBOBOBATION. 

Mb. William Jones thus icrites, July 10th ; 

" Beyond all doubt, the two great attractions at present in 
the Crystal Palace are the Dinners and the Brass Band. There 
is no mistake about this. It may be humiliating to the lover 
of the Fine Arts, but, nevertheless, it is the hard truth. All 
the newspaper paragraphs in the world can't alter this." 

The Times thus writes, July 24rth : 

" The brass band on the terrace will take away from the 
Alhambra its most enthusiastic admirers, and leave the restora- 
tions of Egyptian Architecture as deserted as their originals 
on the sand plains of the Nile. As luncheon and dinner time 
arrive, Mr. Home's department becomes by far the most im- 
portant in the building." 



ANOTHER WOBD TO THE DIBECTOBS. 

Gentlemen, — The costly mistake of Art-attraction has never 
been dealt with in a spirit of hard common sense. The huge 
mass of the public, I repeat, do not care two straws about 
Art. The gaping crowds that stream through the British Mu- 
seum on holidays, go there because it is something in the 
middle of London that they can see for nothing ; and they 
would like it better still if Memnon had an organ in his inside, 
and nodded his head, and moved his eyes. And talking of 
Memnon reminds me that you must have spent more on those 
hideous large figures of Barneses — which have only the merit 
of being big, and which any lot of boys could have built in 
snow if they had had sufficient — than would have furnished an 



CUCUMBEE CASTLE. 267 

entire court of amusement. And, as I have told you, visitors 
prefer to be amused. You remember where the crowd always 
was in the old Crystal Palace of 1851 ? Not before the dear 
" Art Manufactures" (as sixpenny cream-jugs were called when 
they were altered in shape and sold for ten shillings), but be- 
fore the wonderful stuffed animals from Wurtemberg. They 
will do the same at Sydenham if you will provide things for 
them to look at, and you want a few entertaining objects ter- 
ribly. At present, the ruling genius of your Show, apart from 
the lobster-salad and pale ale, is boee — costly, wearying, pon- 
derous, fine-artistic boee. 

A clever statistician, who sat one day for five hours under 
King Charles at Charing-cross, states that only one person in 
every five hundred who went by looked at it, out of those going 
westward — out of those going eastward, one in four hundred 
and thirty. He believes the sun caused this difference, which 
is, however, worth investigation. 

Now, if they don't care for the real thing, what value will 
they set on a cast of it ? — except the trivial pleasure of seeing 
a familiar object when you are at a distance from it, as you see 
your lodgings at Gravesend reproduced in the Camera on Wind- 
mill Hill. 

Again, the power of association has been overlooked. When 
you gaze at the Venus de' Medici in the Tribune of the Palace 
at Florence, you are looking at a wonder of the world — the 
actual priceless treasure — after a walk across the bright Piazza 
Gran' Duca, or a rest in the shaded Loggia de' Lanzi, with the 
Florentine sky above you, and Italian colours glowing around 
you, and the Tuscan accent- everywhere floating about you. 
Tou are away from home, and smoke, and worry ; and, above 
all, you have nothing else to do. Tou have had a pleasant 
breakfast, with girls throwing flowers at you, at the Cafe Donin, 
and you are looking forward to an agreeable dinner at the table 
d'hote of the Hotel du Nord, and a lively drive in the Cascine 
at night amongst the fire-flies and glow-worms. You have left 
the Alps and are going to the Apennines ; and all this increases 
your enthusiasm about the Yenus. A great deal different is 
that which you experience when you are looking at a mere cast, 
and remember that whether the trains go fast or slow — every 
ten minutes or every hour — are full or empty — you must even- 
tually be turned adrift upon the world at London-bridge, and 
struggle with a cab through the Borough or Cheapside, just as 



268 WILD OATS. 

much as if you had come from Boulogne, or been to Ber- 
niondsey to buy leather. 

" We took seven hundred pounds again yesterday, for re- 
freshments !" This is the reply to all questions about " How 
are you going on ?" Carry this out still further — have small 
private rooms (not poked about here and there, but command- 
ing charming views, internal and external) : get the water 
about as quickly as you can, for its plashing sparkling presence 
is always delicious : continue to improve your excellent com- 
missariat -.fight your hardest for something about Sundays ; and, 
in another season, Blackwall, Greenwich, Richmond, Yirginia 
Water, and Thames Ditton, will not be heard of. 

And do not run away with the notion that you are " swells," 
to be approached with awe, and praised for everything you do, 
and placed above receiving suggestions. Tou are nothing of 
the kind. You want either to ride your respective hobbies to 
death, or make as much money as you can out of the Public ; 
and I am really anxious that you should do this with pleasure 
and profit on both sides. You are all gentlemen of position, 
talent, and unimpeachable respectability ; but you are showmen, 
and you and the Public must assume an appropriate relation to 
each other. Please them, and they will be sure to support 
you. Let them go away with a bright impression ; so that 
when you stand outside, and beat your drum and cymbals (the 
Press), and cry, " There is no deception ! — inquire the nature 
of the exhibition of the company who are now leaving the 
caravan! As you like it, so we hope you'll recommend it !" — 
when you do this, let them so well report of you, that every 
one may send a dozen. 

Your obedient servant, 

William Jones. 



( 269 ) 



XXXIII. 

HOW MR. STRAGGLES WENT CHEAP TO ASCOT. 

Me. Straggles sat by himself, on a high stool, in his lonely 
chambers, which were up at the top of the house, thinking on 
things in general, and looking over his garden. 

His garden was not very extensive, being of necessity con- 
fined to his window-sill; but it was sufficiently varied. He 
had one root of mignionette restrained within bounds by a 
light fence of matches, and that vegetable string, whatever it is, 
by which the early vagaries of lettuces are curbed : a pot of 
nasturtiums, the leaves whereof turned yellow successively, and 
then dropped away ; some delicate creepers producing small 
yellow flowers, which in the fulness of a generous imagination 
he termed canary-birds ; and two scarlet-runners, which he 
would watch, and wonder, as they grew, whether they would 
ever form a bean-stalk similar to that renowned one of the 
nursery chronicles that Jack ascended with such ultimate profit 
to his family. 

Mr. Straggles's garden would have been in a better condition, 
had his disposition been less impatient or inquiring. But a 
desire to become acquainted with the beautiful workings of 
nature led him so frequently to poke up the seeds with a steel 
pen, to see how they were getting on, that their growth was 
much affected by these investigations. And as they were re- 
placed in a careless manner, topsy-turvy, or half uncovered, or 
much too deep, their health was considerably deranged. Nor 
was the soil favourable to their growth. Many years ago it 
had been mould, but was now composed of little chips of mortar, 
washings of the house-tops, fragments of glass and crockery, 
bits of stick, and sweepings of the floor. Life, however, goes 
on under marvellous disadvantages ; and, somehow or other, the 
seeds struggled into stalks and leaves, which climbed and flut- 
tered, and caught the blacks, and died, around what old authors 
would have called " Mr. Straggles his windows.'' 

No one knew precisely what profession Mr. Straggles fol- 



270 WILD OATS. 

lowed. He had chambers, and people called on him, and he 
was seen flitting about "Westminster Hall, and Mark-lane, and 
the General Post-office. He knew a great many respectable 
persons, and a great many who were not. He had a small 
property of his own ; was never known to be in debt ; wore 
fancy shirts; loved cheap steam-boats; and took walks to 
Dulwich ; generally wore shoes ; liked theatres ; dined at 
Hancock's in Rupert-street ; was rather feeble-fibred than 
stroDg-minded ; and in stature somewhat approaching the style 
popularly known as " gangling." He always looked as if he 
wanted training up a ladder, or hop -pole. If you pressed him 
into a corner by asking point-blank what he was, he would 
confess to being an "Agent," which meant, he could get your 
coals, wine, second-hand books, cigars, bottled ale, musical 
boxes, fish-sauce, or misfit Lehocq's boots, in any quantity and 
upon the most advantageous terms. 

" Ah !" exclaimed Mr. Straggles, addressing the scarlet- 
runner as he gave it a little water from the carafe on his 
wash-stand — " ah ! you may well look dried up. I am. 
Pheugh!" 

And Mr. Straggles threw open his waistcoat, and displayed 
all the huntsmen on his shirt, with their red coats and blue 
horses, to the best advantage. Having done which, he finished 
the contents of the water-bottle himself, and directly afterwards 
appeared to grow an inch higher. 

" Paper !" shouted a boy at the door, as he accompanied the 
last syllable with a loud knock. Mr. Straggles had yesterday's 
Times every morning ; and having taken it in, he began to read 
the news. 

" Bless me !" he said to himself, as his eye fell upon a string 
of advertisements of the things presumed to be indispensable 
for the races, from guinea hampers and paletots, to gents' 
sporting handkerchiefs and "nobby" pattern'd shawls — " bless 
me ! it's Ascot, and I meant to go to-morrow. How are the 
funds ?" 

Mr. Straggles looked in his desk, and there was a little purse 
apparently made to just fit the top of his thumb. He found, 
on examining its contents, that he had a sovereign less than he 
thought he had. And the man who owed him five pounds was 
always out of town when he called. 

"Well," he thought, after a little philosophical reflection, 
" go I must ; but I won't do it expensively. No, no, I'll go 



HOW MR. STRAGGLES WENT CHEAP TO ASCOT. 271 

cheap. None of your fast coaches there and back for thirty 
shillings. I won't spend more than ten ; and when I'm on the 
course, who'll know how I went ?" And in this resolve he im- 
mediately caught a boy in the street, whom he despatched on 
a message to his laundress to let her know that he should want 
his white trousers on "Wednesday night ; and he went himself 
after the two pair of kid gloves that he had left to be cleaned 
the week before at the bonnet-shop where the young lady was 
with the nice hair, whom Mr. Straggles had promised to escort 
some fine evening to Cremorne G-ardens — when he got an 
order. 

Thursday morning arrived — as Thursday morning always will 
do if you only wait patiently for it — and Mr. Straggles rose 
with the lark that hopped about a bit of turf outside the second 
floor window of the opposite house — for second floors are par- 
tial to larks in various ways — and betook himself to the Grolden 
Cross. It was early in the morning. The young men were 
setting out the shop windows ; omnibus loads of inward bound 
suburban clerks loitered up the Strand ; coffee-room windows 
were open to let out the fumes of the night before ; wet morn- 
ing papers fluttered round the coach offices, and the man with 
the cheap cutlery commenced cutting his gloves to pieces. How 
Mr. Straggles pitied everybody who remained in town ! 

" Cab, sir ! Here y'are, sir!" said a driver. 

" Nonsense," replied Mr. Straggles, pleasantly bantering in 
the lightness of his heart. " How can I be there, when I'm 
here ?" 

" Better ride, sir, it's pourin' of rain where you're going." 

But Mr. Straggles walked on. 

" I. say, sir," cried the driver after him, " mind your legs 
don't bolt away from you. You'll never keep up with them at 
that rate." 

Which pleasant humour so delighted a boy who was playing 
on the bones to an old fruit woman as she set out her stall for 
the day, that he preceded Mr. Straggles with a Nubian melody, 
occasionally warning the passengers of the important person he 
preceded by telling them to get out of the way. And in this 
manner Mr. Straggles reached the Golden Cross, having thus 
far avoided all expenditure. 

" South- Western Bail way, sir ?" inquired the book-keeper. 
" Omnibus gone about five minutes, sir. I should recommend 
a cab, or you'll lose the train." 



272 WILD OATS. 

There was no other way : it was two shillings gone, but what 
was to be done ? Mr. Straggles performed the difficult feat of 
getting into a restless Hansom, and told the driver to overtake 
the omnibus. But the driver could not, all he could do. He 
dropped his whip, and got hemmed in by coal-waggons at Mill- 
bank, and blockaded by numbers going into the new Houses of 
Parliament, right across Abingdon-street, so that when he 
reached Vauxhall-bridge there was no trace of the bus. And 
then came two pikes, which, with their natural voracity, swal- 
lowed large sums of halfpence : so that when he got to Nine 
Elms, he had anything but a Cup-day temper. 

Careless people would at once have taken a seat to "Woking, 
but Mr. Straggles was cautious to a fault. "No," he rea- 
soned ; " the vehicles at "Woking will make a harvest and com- 
bine. I know their ways. I will stop at "Weybridge, where 
there will be no rush, and make a quiet bargain." So he took 
a second-class return ticket to Weybridge, and saved something 
besides. 

Off went the train, gasping among the nursery-grounds, and 
screaming across Battersea-fields ; rattling over the Wandle, 
and rushing through the wilds of Wimbledon as if Jerry Aber- 
shaw had been again at its heels ; squeaking past forlorn 
Kingston-upon-Eailway ; scaring the goslings on Ditton Marsh, 
and racketing through the cutting of St. G-eorge's Hills, until 
it pulled up at Weybridge, and Mr. Straggles got out. 

Here he found nothing but a four-wheeled chaise which went 
to Chertsey, where, the driver told him, "there was lots of 
things to the races." 

" Oh !" said Mr. Straggles ; "what's your fare ?" 

" Take you to Chessy for three shillings, sir. Perhaps some- 
body else is going: then it'll come cheaper." 

Mr. Straggles cast his eyes towards the station, and thought 
he saw a passenger who looked as if he was going to " Chessy," 
as the driver called it. He did not know why ; but in his 
anxiety he caught at men of straws. The passenger came up, 
looked to the right and to the left, then at the four-wheeled 
chaise, gave a whistle of indecision, shook his head in answer 
to the hail, and walked off across the common, as if he had 
seven-leagued boots on. Hope left Mr. Straggles's bosom, 
carrying with her the three shillings from his pocket. 

" Never mind," thought Mr. Straggles ; " I was going to the 
Haymarket on Saturday, and now I won't : so it will not make 



HOW ME. STRAGGLES WENT CHEAP TO ASCOT. 273 

any difference in the long run." Then he added aloud to the 
driver : 

" Now on to Chertsey with your sacred load." 

The man had not read Shakspeare — he had not got to 
Chertsey yet — but the speech seemed to imply a wish to start, 
and off* they went, Mr. Straggles singing " The Standard- 
Bearer," to German words of his own, until it verged into 
" Eobert toi que j'aime ;" in which ballad, when he came to 
"Grace!" he shouted it out so lustily, that the old horse 
actually jumped forward, and the man thought his companion 
a little touched. But Mr. Straggles's joyousness was more 
hysterical than real, as his expenditure increased. He was 
singing to drown reflection, in that noisily absent manner 
which Mr. Punch affects after he has thrown his infant out of 
window — the mask worn by a hollow heart, as was once beauti- 
fully observed. And so they went on until they arrived at 
their destination. 

Chertsey is a mild market town, which once boasted a power- 
ful abbey, nobody knows where ; where Henry the Sixth was 
buried, nobody knows how; and finally annihilated, nobody 
knows when ; for it escaped at the time of the dissolution of 
the religious houses, nobody knows why. Its natives are 
friendly, tranquil persons. If the Wandering Jew paid perio- 
dical visits thereto every quarter of a century, he would find 
the inhabitants precisely in the same places, doing what they 
did five-and-twenty years ago; unmoved by external excite- 
ments, and unaltered by popular progress. But at Ascot time 
the heart of Chertsey commences to throb faintly. The inha- 
bitants see people they do not know about the streets, and run 
out of their shops to look at them. Horses, whose existence 
was never suspected, emerge into active life ; and long-departed 
coaches, pertaining to the good old times of drawling locomo- 
tion, are pulled from their mausoleums, and mopped and 
greased, and once more put upon the road. 

" "Where's that trap going to ?" inquired Mr. Straggles, as 
he saw a coach waiting at one of the inns. 

" Ask-it," answered the man. 

Mr. Straggles put on a severe expression at what he consi- 
dered the man's impertinence, for he did not at first perceive 
his meaning. But when he found it was going to Ascot, and 
that there was just one place left, which he could have for ten 
shillings, he closed at once, and climbed on to the roof, behind. 

T 



274 WILD OATS. 

" In for a penny in for a pound," he thought. " Thank good- 
ness, this is the last expense I" 

The man touched his hat, and hegged a trifle for himself. 
Mr. Straggles gave him a shilling, and told him to keep six- 
pence. But he had not got it ; so Mr. Straggles, perceiving a 
pretty girl inside who was looking at him, said, " Ah ! well, 
never mind, keep it all," with dashing liberality. "When the 
man had driven off, Mr. Straggles found he had left his gloves 
in the chaise, so he had just fifteen seconds to jump down and 
buy some more. In his hurry of trying on, he split one pair 
into ribbons, which he had to pay for ; and getting up quickly 
into the coach, he blacked the others against some dreadful 
composition put on to make it look new for the day : and by 
this time he was getting perfectly reckless, so much so that he 
began to sing "The Standard-Bearer" again, and after some 
bottled ale at the "Wheatsheaf at Virginia "Water, volunteered 
it aloud for the delight of his fellow-passengers. 

" I think we must have a sweepstakes," said a traveller in a 
cut-away coat on the box. " Are you all agreeable, gents ?" 

" Oh yes — certainly :" they were all agreeable ; and Mr. 
Straggles could not say he was not. It was to be half-a-crown 
a chance, which he paid, and drew a horse he never heard of. 
Never mind : outsiders did win sometimes. 

" I'll take your fares, if you please," said the coachman, as 
they crept up the hill beyond Blacknest. " It will save trouble 
on the course." 

Again Mr. Straggles' s hand was in his pocket, and the song 
of " The Standard-Bearer" died as faintly away as did the voice 
of the bleeding hero. But the arrival on the course for a time 
chased away his despair. 

" We shall keep here," said the coachman, as he at last drew 
up in the ranks below the distance ; " and we'll meet after the 
last race, if you please : you'll hear a horn. JSTow, just leave 
the horses alone, will you ?" 

This was said to half a dozen men, who were violently un- 
harnessing the horses, to take them, by force, to all sorts of 
stables. Then Mr. Straggles got down, with some others, to 
support the coachman ; and directly he put his feet to the 
ground, two men seized him, and insisted upon brushing him 
almost into a state of electricity, until he had bribed them to 
desist, after which he was permitted to go at large. 



HOW ME. STEAGGLES WENT CHEAP TO ASCOT. 275 

How Mr. Straggles walked up and down within tlie rails, 
and assumed refined attitudes as he eyed the ladies in the front 
rank of carriages ; how he bought an " Oxley's c'rect card," 
and read it with an air of great depth and interest ; how he met 
some friends who had lunch, and gave him some, luring him 
into more sweepstakes, all of which he lost ; how he was also 
attracted by some wonderful eyes, that had driven him mad at 
an evening party the week before, to go into the Grand Stand ; 
and how the same bright eyes complained of the heat, and 
accepted ices and expensive accompaniments; and how Mr. 
Straggles determined upon not going to the Haymarket there- 
upon, but also gave up a notion he had of a new paletot and a 
week at Boulogne — all these things might have happened had 
he gone by any other way to the races, and therefore need not 
be particularly chronicled. 

At length the last race was run, and Mr. Straggles sought 
the trysting-place. But however easily to be found out it had 
been when the coach first came on the course, it was now a 
matter almost of impossibility; for there were hundreds of 
coaches alike all along the densely crowded ranks right down 
to the corner. And the same number of horns were blowing 
in every direction — the sound being to the ears what the "Will- 
o'-the-wisp is to the eyes, leading the wanderer here and there, 
only to laugh at him as it rose in another place. He got al- 
most frantic. Like Leonora, he ran up and down the lines 
wringing his hands, and asking for his particular vehicle, but 
none could give the information. The clouds of dust around 
the course showed how quickly the company were departing. 
He dived under drags, and got behind horses' heels — stood on 
strange wheels, and clambered across unknown front seats — - 
mounted wrong roofs in his agony, and was thought to be one 
of the swell mob in consequence — until the last coach went off 
and again carried Hope away on its seat, together with half of 
his teL 1 shillings, and the return of his day- ticket. 

"Now then, who's for Slough?" shouted a man, who was 
driving a curiously fragile car with one horse — one of those 
vehicles formerly denominated "flying bedsteads," in the days 
when we went Greenwiching by the Kent-road. " Take yer to 
the rail, sir?" 

This was addressed to Mr. Straggles, and he immediately 
hailed the driver, regardless of consequences. He was not off 

t2 



276 WILD OATS. 

yet, though. The man would ply all along the booths and 
taverns, and got invited to have a drink at all of them ; so that 
it was actually getting dark when he started. Then the horse 
would not go beyond a slow trot ; and one of the wheels was 
obliged to be watched every minute, for fear it should catch, 
fire, until the bell for the last up-train was ringing when they 
crossed the old high road at Slough and neared the station. 

" There's the train!" cried Mr. Straggles, "I can see the 
smoke. Drive on ! drive on ! "What's to pay ?" 

" Ten bob," answered the man, pithily. 

" Ten what ?" screamed Mr. Straggles. " Ten ! What for ? 
Pooh! stuff!" 

" Can't let you down, master, if you don't. That's my 
rights," said the man, with great coolness. 

" I'll pull you up," said Mr. Straggles. " There's your money. 
And mind, you shall hear of this again, you damned infernal 
scamp ! Where's your number ?" 

" That's werry unlucky," answered the man. " Lor ! where 
can it be ? I'm sure I don't know — do you ?" 

The train had stopped at the station, and the doors were closed. 
With the recklessness of desperation, Mr. Straggles vaulted 
over the rails of the platform, and just as it was moving on, 
rushed into the only carriage that appeared available; and, 
closing the door after him, was in another second rattling off 
towards London ; and then, completely exhausted in mind and 
body, he sank down into a corner, and fell asleep. 

He was roused by the lantern of the guard glaring in his 
eyes, as his ticket was demanded at Paddington. Of course, he 
had none to give, and they fetched the superintendent. In vain 
he assured them that he had got in at Slough, acknowledging 
that the doors of the station were closed. He looked in his 
dishevelled state such a suspicious character, that the police- 
men entered the carriage to accompany him to the terminus, 
when he was immediately marched between two guards to the 
secretary's office. 

" I cannot help it, sir," said the functionary, after a rapid 
and feverish attempt of Mr. Straggles to explain his case. " The 
by-laws of the company order that any person found without a 
ticket must pay " 

Mr. Straggles groaned. 

" Must pay full fare from the most distant station." 



HOW MR. STRAGGLES WENT CHEAP TO ASCOT. 277 

" And that is ?" gasped our luckless friend. 

" Let me see. First class, single journey, from Exeter. Two 
pounds four shillings and sixpence." 

Mr. Straggles heard no more. The lights whirled round 
him ; the noise as of a thousand engines letting off their steam 
at once sounded in his ears, and he fell into the arms of the, 
nearest policeman. 

He recovered from a brain fever a poorer, but a wiser man. 
And ho made two great resolves : first, never to go to the races 
again, if he could help it ; and secondly, if at any time his 
feeble mind yielded to the temptation, not to try any cheap 
methods, however tempting they might appear, since cutting 
short the expenses, like short cuts in general, was certain to 
end only in trouble, and wearing and tearing disappointment. 



( 278 ) 
XXXIV. 

THE GILT-BUTTONED YACHTMAN. 
(DEDICATED TO THE AMATEUR MARINES WHO DID NOT 00 OUT.) 

See "West Cowes thronged with gazers — the race has begun, 
And that swell with the girls thinks the scene " rather fun." 
The Club-house is crowded — the steamers are crammed— 
Yachts, gigs, and Hythe-wherries together are jammed. 
In a somewhat short jacket, with air of command, 
Whilst he eyes all the rigging he don't understand ; 
As the bark is blown over the mildest of seas, 
The Gilt-buttoned Yachtsman feels " rather the cheese !" 

Now 3 up ye bold mariners, over the sea, 
Launch out on the Channel so daring and free ; 
No longer round Harwich or Babbicombe creep, 
But, hardy as Norsemen of yore, rule the deep. 
The sea topped with breakers, the heavens like lead, 
The deck running water from big waves ahead, 
"With a yearning to be once again on "firm earth," 
The Grilt-buttoned Yachtsman is ill in his berth ! 

"War curses the earth, and the cold Ural blast 

Sweeps over the steppes to our army at last, 

Half-clothed and half-famished ! Do such ills betide 

His old cherished friends of the Lobby and Eide ? 

You have called each " old fellow" — behave, then, as such— 

A few English comforts would cheer them so much ! 

But instead of embarking to soften their rubs, 

The Grilt-buttoned Yachtsman talks trash at the Clubs, 

And now, at Spithead, by the trains carried down, 

To watch the review, we find out the whole town : 

How truly our brave sailors fought, and how well, 

The Baltic, Crimea, and Azoff can tell. 

As the " gallant" bark bobs up and down like a buoy, 

Turning out but a costly and fine-weather toy, 

"When he thinks that he, too, could have witnessed each scene, 

The Grilt-buttoned Yachtsman feels horribly mean ! 



( 279 ) 



XXXV. 

OF FAIRS, FAIRINGS, AND FAIRIES. 

I tell of festivals, and fairs, and plays, 
Of merriment, and mirth, and bonfire blaze, 
I tell of brooks and blossoms, birds and bowers, 
Of April, May, of June and July flowers, 
I tell of groves, of twilights, and I sing 
The court of Mab, and of the fairy king. 

Quaint old Herrick — from whose pleasant synopsis the fore- 
going lines are taken, reading as though they were meant to be 
written upon green leaves, and sung only to the music of a 
glancing rill, tumbling, gurgling, and whirling down a hill-side 
over glittering pebbles, and through beds of sunny forget-me- 
nots — what a mercy it was, with his summery and country 
feelings, that he was born in those happy times when May 
was green and warm, and such things were as fairs and festi- 
vals; before daisies were driven, back and back, from their 
prairies like wild tribes, or trampled under foot by civilising 
colonists ; when all the practical use to which steam had been 
applied was in removing the tight lids from the state-prison 
kettles of the middle ages ! 

How would his heart have broken gradually — (there were 
hearts, too, in his day ; real home-made hearts, warranted 
sound, not very clever imitations — Birmingham hearts with 
sentiments of electrotyped brass, which the "frequent rob- 
beries" called into fashion in later times, like spurious plate) — 
how would it have gone piecemeal, one string after another, in 
the fashion of a harp in a hot room, if he could have witnessed 
the desecration of his groves by "junctions" and " extensions ;" 
of his twilight by gas and colza ; of his real fairs by fancy ones ; 
of his festivals and fairies, by what professional philanthropists 
call " an improved condition of the people," and country police- 
men. 

"We regret this state of things as deeply as he would have 
done, but our heart has not yet broken. It is incrusted with 



280 WILD OATS. 

the barnacles of the world's rubs, as old submarine timber is 
coated and preserved by other Crustacea. We cannot tell 
whether this may, or may not, be an advantage. We only 
know that so it is ; but that, notwithstanding, we lament the 
gradual decay of all those pleasant things, which Herrick sang 
about, so rapidly hastening to the state of organic remains. 
Man has not yet been found in the form of a fossil — why not, 
we leave it to the geological disputants to determine — but we 
firmly believe that in a few ages, the British Museum, should it 
be still existing, will be graced with fossil fairies and petrified 
maypoles. 

Of those objects quoted at the head of our paper, the depar- 
ture of the fairs and fairies are most to be lamented. They 
went together, and within our recollection. "We know not 
where to, but are comforted in a theory of astronomy — that the 
stars are suns to other solar systems ; and that, if this be the 
case, perhaps one of these brighter orbs, where improvements 
have not arrived at the high-pressure pitch of our own globe, 
has ofFered them an asylum. 

Not many years ago the village in which we lived, scarcely a 
score of miles from London, could boast both of fairies and rustic 
festivals. It was a quiet, sleepy-looking place, off the high road ; 
and when you ascended the hill near it, on a fine summer's 
afternoon, you saw its steeple peeping above the foliage in 
which the houses were embosomed, with the weathercock 
dozing and glittering in the warm sunlight ; and all looking so 
tranquil that it required no small degree of harsh matter-of- 
fact persuading to make yourself believe the place was really 
inhabited by the bustling and industrious natives, who squabbled 
and wrangled as they carried on the trade in " malt, brooms, 
and poultry," for which the Gazetteer told us the place was re- 
markable. There were long, long lanes, too, whose thoroughfare 
was the best compromise between turf and Macadam ever known, 
going away into the country, and arched over by bending trees, 
which in the absence of other excitement appeared to me bowing 
to one another all day long for amusement. And the limes 
that overhung the pathway across the churchyard grew at one 
point so close to the chancel window that they swept its case- 
ment, as their morning shadows fell, in quivering patches, upon 
the old brasses and tablets of the interior ; whilst without, the 
sunlight darted through their leaves to flicker on the green turf 
of the quiet graves below. 



OF FAIRS, FAIRINGS, AND FAIRIES. 281 

Beyond this was a wooded pasture where the fairies lived. 
Nobody we knew had actually ever seen them, although every- 
body else knew somebody that had. But we were sure they 
were there, for the rings where they danced were very plainly 
seen ; and in hot summers, when everything else was parched 
up with drought, these rings were always fresh and green, as 
though a circular spring of water ran beneath them. How the 
mushrooms grew on these rings too ! Tight, button-like little 
fellows, lifting up their heads above the grass, no doubt on pur- 
pose for the fairies' own use, but whether as food, tables, or 
umbrellas, we never knew. It was something of a mystery 
where the tiny spirits went in the daytime : we opine that they 
never were caught in it, but followed the twilight round the 
earth, riding on its last shadows. A young lady who wrote 
poetry in our provincial paper, and was thought to be a little 
mad, said they lodged in the cowslips. But this was nonsense : 
the children could never have made chains with the petals if 
such had been the case. 

It was on this spot, with its high wavy boundary of trees, 
that the fair was also held. And it was a fair — a downright 
earnest one, where you could buy a fiddle for sixpence, and 
not tender a five-pound note for a Louis Quatorze pen-wiper or 
a wire-gauze nothing, worked with floss silk impossibilities, and 
get no change. There were shows, too — wonderful shows — 
we have never seen any like them since ; the exhibitions of 
London have, in fact, merely excited a feeling of contempt. 
Nothing of Landseer's ever came up to their canvas of the 
"Lioness attacking the Exeter mail!" The surprise of the 
gentleman on the box in the fashionable coat, the terror of the 
respectable lady inside, the agony of the horses — it was grand ! 
And how Maclise's great pictures fell in our estimation when 
we thought of the vivid cartoon which showed " The Circassian 
negress with the silver hair ! — The smallest man now travelling ! 
— The black wild Indian captured by the bravery of a British 
officer !" All these marvels, together and alive, were exhibit- 
ing to elegant company of all nations, in a beautiful room with 
crimson drapery for a ceiling. The Indian fed on raw meat — 
real raw meat from the butcher that supplied our own table, and 
he was a man above suspicion ; indeed, he was twice overseer. 
The Ioways never did that! Certainly the interior of the 
caravan was not of the splendid description represented outside, 
but then a painter's licence is very great, as the Academy por- 



282 WILD OATS. 

traits, especially, yearly prove. What a blessing is photo- 
graphy ! 

AH day long the people from the neighbouring villages could 
be seen coming over the fields towards our fair, on every side ; 
rosy-faced girls, in smart cotton prints that would have shamed 
your mousselines de laine into utter insignificance, as much as 
their cheeks would have outdone those of the metropolitan helles 
who wore them ; smart young fellows, who looked like country 
editions of the chorus in " La Sonnambula" and the " Elisir 
d' Amore ;" chubby children, who had dreamt of trumpets, gin- 
gerbread, and halfpence at their actual disposal, for months 
previously. "What a day it was for everybody ; and what a 
great one for the Red Lion public-house! Alas! the Eed 
Lion public-house became an inn, then a tavern, and is now a 
railway hotel. But then it stood on the edge of the fair green, 
out of the dust and crowd, yet not too far removed but " the 
swarming sound of life" came pleasantly to its door, and here 
the visitors rested, and drank its famous ale — such ale, too ! — 
like liquid amber, through which the bubbles rose in myriads 
of tiny balloons, hastening to be drunk. The secret of brewing 
it has evidently been lost, with those of painting missals and 
making mummies. And there was amusement, too, for those 
who rested here : the wandering curiosities strolled from the 
crowd to exhibit before its doors. Here the small boy in ochre- 
coloured tights, which fitted indifferently, sang the song stand- 
ing upon his head ; here the Dutch girls carolled their Lieber 
Augustin — nobody knew where they came from, except from 
" abroad," and that was a locality somewhere in Prance, com- 
prising India and everywhere else, in the judgment of the au- 
dience ; certainly we preferred their singing to Heinefetter's or 
Devrient's ; indeed, we do not think the latter would ever have 
been so popular with the villagers as the broom girls. The only 
person who never thought much of them was the host's daugh- 
ter ; but this was because a gay fellow, who was much struck 
with them, was strongly suspected of being her " young man," 
and it required all his wit, and more than his usual fairing, to 
make all smooth again. And these fairings were very smart ; 
they were of the same class as those objects of virtu which 
young English gentlemen of playfal temperaments, and who 
are not proud, throw at with sticks at the races — pincushions, 
thimbles, and money-boxes. We never knew the swains buy 
" bunches of ribbons" in our time, and therefore look upon the 



OF FAIKS, FAIKINGS, AND FAIKIES. 283 

vague " Johnny" — of whose long stay at the fair a lyrical tra- 
dition is extant — to have been a fiction. 

At night the revelry must have scared the fairies; what 
laughs and pretty screams, and "Done, thens!" resounded on 
every side. Fancy -fairs do not terminate so now-a-days ; good- 
ness, if they did, how popular they would become! There 
was always a game at " kiss in the ring" before dark. Imagine 
what "kiss in the ring" would be in the Begent's Park Gar- 
dens, and all the stall-keepers and patronesses joining in it! 
And for a benevolent object too ! 

Eut we have been idly gossiping of things long past, for- 
getting they have gone. Our fair is as much an old extinct 
festival now, as setting the watch on St. John's eve, or meeting 
in Penchurch- street to gather in the may. Our fairies exist no 
longer, but doubtless, like other broken-up families, have emi- 
grated ; where their green rings could be seen on the fair green, 
there is now a railway embankment. The noble trees that 
surrounded it have fallen, and summer and winter, day and 
night, engines fly by, blazing, gasping, screaming, roaring, and 
exulting savagely in their own infernal powers ; flinging their 
glowing cinders right and left to scorch the once velvet turf, and 
scaring the cattle into downright madness as the steam shoots 
out from their burnished valves, in passing what were formerly 
such quiet pastures. Mobs of strangers, too, overrun the vil- 
lage, who get a ride and rheumatism at a penny a mile in cheap 
excursion trains ; and perking cottages, looking as if they had 
retired from London upon incomes, are springing up every- 
where. 

We know not if all this innovation be good — we cannot tell ; 
it may be — at least ingenious gentlemen who can write large 
books tell us that it is so, and we suppose they are right. But 
we would give a great deal to behold our old-fashioned rustic 
fair once more — not the suburban riots which now adopt the 
name. Sometimes we dream of one, and see the old amuse- 
ments over again ; but it is only to be awakened by the blowing 
of a battered horn, announcing the departure of a miserable 
omnibus, which half a dozen times a day carries unsympathising 
strangers backwards and forwards, to and from the melancholy 
building, in form and proportions so like the Morgue at Paris, 
which they call the " station." And this, too, on the very spot 
where the fairies danced, and the dear old festival was held ! 



( 284 ) 



XXXYI. 

IL FANATICO PER LA MUSICA. 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! the letter has escaped the keepers in the dis- 
guise of a shrimp, and will reach the office. " Why should I go 
mad ?" as the ballad observes, written by Mark and Alfred — 
not the evangelist and the early Saxon king — but those two 
sweet fruits, Lemon and Mellon. Ho! melodious Pomona! 
have I not a nice little Pine to add to Fancy's dessert ? Oh ! 
Oranges and Lemmens ! and thou, fair syren, of whom East- 
end Cockneys remark, " Her songs are so Vinning !" But my 
brain is chirping wildly. 

I have gone mad from music. I took checks for years at 
St. Martin's Hall, and was known and honoured. Ask the lin- 
guist Willert, the affable Tom, the bearded Arthur, the re- 
searching William. I have sunny memories of my life. I 
have spoken to " ce clier Sams" as Paris lions speak of him. 
Markwell, Vami des artistes, once bowed to me when I was on 
an omnibus — I, not he ; for a Markwell never rode in an om- 
nibus since Sir G-uillaume, in the time of the Crusades, and his 
family privately poisoned him. I have visited the abode of Joy 
— I have seen the part author of the venerable Adam Bede. 
I have witnessed the St. Ledger run — when crossing Piccadilly. 
And have I not sought Ella's bower, and witnessed that great 
man ride at the circus of the Alhambra in the morning, and 
rule at the musical union afterwards ? And do I not recollect 
when he played Harlequin ? Ho ! I have him there ! Who is 
Osborne ? who is he ? with a fa, la, la ! — but the composer of 
La Pluie des JPerles, and proprietor of a house he lets to the 
Queen, where Brinley Sloper was born. 

The haze of my tobacco-smoke opens. The musical shuffling 
of kindly slippers is heard, and Padre Green looms through it. 
" Pardon me, my dear friend," he says, " have you got every- 
thing you wish ? Compliment me, by listening to this glee." 
All among the Kidneys — I know it, sung by the tuneful quire 
of Happy Land : 



IL FANATICO PER LA MUSICA. 285 

The chop is like a cutlet, 

But only not so small ; 
"Welsh rabbits taste like toasted cheese, 

And that I think is all. 
Poached eggs are pockets, pink and white, 

Containing all they can, 
But the blithe and bounding kidney 

Makes glad the heart of man. 

All among the kidneys, &c. 

" Now I mount, now, now I fly" — so listen to one who has 
heard the Travitora and ISfflisir Borgia, as sung by Yerdigrisi. 
I have written a song ! I will send it to you weekly. The 
words are by Kingslake, the author of " Eothen, or from the 
Yeast." It is thine own, oh, Charlotte Helen! of whom 
CEdipus wrote : 

My first is loved in childhood's hours, 

My second rifles sweetest flowers, 

My whole enchants us with her powers. 

It's a Doll and a Bee, and a Miss Doll-bee. So list : 

NEW SONG. 

Three Fishers went sailing to westward afar, 

Heigho ! says Hullah. 
Three Fishers went sailing to westward afar, 
"Whilst followed the boys, and the harbour bar 
Went rowley, powley, salmon, and Greenwich, 

Heigho ! for Headland ! 

That's all! Phit! Whiz! Bo! 

The Honest Froglactdeb. 

Colney Hatch, Nov. 25. 



280 



XXXVII. 

A VISIT TO ETON MONTEM, 1841. 

"We are not going to cry down the celebration of this trien- 
nial festival ; on the contrary, we enter into its innocent follies 
with keen delight. On the score of antiquity alone it is to be 
venerated, for we adore all these fast-fading relics of the cus- 
toms of our ancestors ; and we look upon their quaint ordi- 
nances with the same feelings of mingled respect and amuse- 
ment that would be inspired by gazing on an old piece of china, 
which, fashioned in the present day, would be pronounced both 
ludicrous and absurd, but, as a memorial of bygone times, is 
endowed with value and interest. "We love the pageantry of 
the Montem dearly, and we trust the period is far off when re- 
finement and the schoolmaster shall have done their worst, and 
the holiday shall only be mentioned among the fasti of other 
days. 

Many circumstances combined to render the late Montem far 
more attractive than it had been for several years. The pre- 
sence of Prince Albert for the first time at its celebration was 
one principal source of interest : at the same time he had ren- 
dered himself extremely popular with the Eton scholars. There 
was also a chance of fine weather, tolerably well assured, as far 
as corns and quicksilver guarantee a change in our variable 
climate ; and last, though not least, the trains of the Great 
"Western Eailway offered facilities to the Londoners to enter 
into the amusements of the day which they had never before 
enjoyed. "Whispers also arose, from the glittering magazines 
of the masquerade warehouses, that the fancy dresses would be 
numerous and costly ; and perhaps the anticipation of seeing 
Greeks and Circassians walking about the public roads in broad 
daylight was as important as any of the other inducements. 

It was in one of those bright moods of joyousness and hilarity 
which a fine summer morning in the country excites, that we 
walked through "Windsor Park. "We were in perfect good 



A VISIT TO ETON MONTEM, 1841. 287 

humour with ourselves and everybody around us, and we hoped 
the feeling was reciprocal. We say we hoped, for their hearts 
must be indeed withered upon whom sunlight and a clear blue 
sky, the blithe hum of insects and the scent of wild flowers, 
have no influence, and are unable to make them feel, at least 
for the time being, both happier and better creatures. Our 
road lay apart from the beaten track, amidst coverts of fern 
and fair pastures, encompassed by ancient and picturesque trees. 
Indeed, it needed little imagination to reverse the flight of 
Time, and fancy ourselves once more living in the feudal ages ; 
with the keep of the noble castle rising above the surrounding 
foliage, and the herds of deer grazing below in quietude, until 
the clanging horn of the merry green-coated hunters should 
scare them from their repose. We thought of the many changes 
some of the old trees had seen — how they had calmly budded 
and flourished when the kingdom was torn with inward con- 
tention, and inundated with its best blood — how they would 
still push forth their verdure when the very recollection of 
those who now loitered in their shade would have passed away. 
We traced in our own mind, heedless of all antiquarian direc- 
tions and disputes, the spot where the sack-loving Sir John 
Falstaff suffered from his fair tormentors ; and in another direc- 
tion we pictured William de Wykeham surveying, with honest 
pride, the first elevations of the structure which was hereafter 
to become so favoured. 

Our arrival at Windsor soon broke this train of thought, and 
turned it upon another set of rails — to adopt the steam-loving 
language of the day — for here all was activity and movement. 
Long lines of carriages near the principal inns showed that we 
were not the first who had arrived to " don observance" to the 
Montem ; and others were every instant pouring in from the 
different roads, together with crowds of foot-passengers, who, 
being principally from the neighbouring villages, would have 
formed, by their clean, homely dress, and healthy, open counte- 
nances, a strong contrast to a like assembly in London. 

We passed down Thames-street, and at Windsor-bridge en- 
countered the first real indication of the Montem, in the shape 
of a salt-learer, attired as an Albanian, who, attended by a 
runner, proffered us a handsome pink satin bag to receive our 
contribution. We gave a trifle consistent with our means, and 
received from the attendant in return a small green-paper 
ticket, inscribed as follows ; the possession of which, we un- 



2&8 WILD OATS. 

derstood, was to free us from any further demands being levied 
upon our purse. We accordingly stuck it in our hat, such ap- 
pearing to be the fashion upon the present Occasion : 



MOS PEO LEGE. 

1841. 

Ftbat HUgfna. 



The narrow High-street of Eton tended to condense the 
influx of company, who were arriving from all parts, in no small 
degree, acting like the extremely contracted inlet at the pay- 
place of the pit-door of a theatre ; and opposite the College, at 
the union of the separate roads from London, "Windsor, and 
Dorney, the carriages and foot-passengers were wedged into 
one dense mass ; amongst which, however, the salt-bearers 
were assiduously plying their vocation, creeping before the 
horses, and behind, and in some cases under, the carriages, 
whenever the absence of a ticket betokened the presence of a 
defaulter, who had not yet tendered his offering. 

At this stage of " the order of the day," the Quadrangle of 
the College was the chief point of attraction ; where the re- 
view, if we may so term it, of the entire school was to take 
place under the inspection of her Majesty. Here admission 
was only to be obtained by tickets, and we had neglected to 
procure one previously from the proper quarter. It is, how- 
ever, an axiom with us, at all public sights, to see as much as 
we can ; and in any case of exclusiveness, provided we are not 
furnished with the regular passports, we invariably "try it on" 
without. "We argue that we may succeed, and that if we do 
not, we can but be turned back. In the present instance, we 
followed closely upon an elderly gentleman of corpulent propor- 
tions, and whilst he was searching in the profundity of his waist- 
coat-pockets for his card of admission, we contrived to slip in by 
mistake, like the Irishman's bad guinea amongst the halfpence. 
"We have some faint recollection of a policeman seizing us forcibly 



1841. 289 

by the shoulder ; but at this critical period a crowd of polemen, 
with their blue jackets and wands, came driving through the 
arch, and we were borne on before them, until we found our- 
selves in the Quadrangle, at the foot of the statue, whose stolen 
sceptre caused so much noise a short period since. 

The large area was filled with a crowd of elegant company, 
mixed with the boys of the school, who were flitting about from 
one acquaintance to another, or running to execute imaginary 
orders of ideal importance, in all the pride of their red coats, 
cocked-hats, swords, and fancy dresses. A cluster of beautiful 
women had assembled upon the stone steps leading up to the 
chapel, from whence one of the best coups-d'ceil was obtained ; 
and they formed a strange contrast, by their delicate and breath- 
ing forms, to the rough old carved work and tracery of the pa- 
rapet, to whose outlines they were clinging. 

The roofs of the Long Chamber and Upper School, which 
form the northern and eastern boundaries of the Quadrangle, 
were equally tenanted by groups of fair spectators, as were the 
various windows looking into the square, with the exception of 
the larger one in the Clock Tower, which was reserved for the 
Queen and Prince Albert, and towards which many anxious 
glances were cast. At this period (half-past ten a.m.) the 
spectacle was exceedingly animated and striking; the scene 
owing its chief brilliancy, of course, to the fancy dresses of the 
boys ; and some of these were remarkably elegant. There 
were several parties of hunters in " Lincoln Green," with bows 
and arrows ; various Grecian and Turkish costumes ; more be- 
longing to no country at all, but a happy confusion of the 
attributes of each ; several Hungarians in fur edging and red 
tights ; and a formidable army of field-marshals, lieutenants, 
and other military officers, who, in addition to their swords — 
" real sharp swords," as we heard a little girl designate them — 
each carried a taper black cane. A Charles the Second, a 
Captain Macheath, and a Greek with long black ringlets, and 
some what taller than his compatriots, struck us as being the most 
faithtful costumes : the most elegant we opine to have been two 
moyen-age dresses of light pink satin and silver, worn by two 
youths (brothers, we expect) about fourteen years old. They 
were gracefully designed, but, if anything, too delicate for the 
occasion — the slightest shower would have been instant annihi- 
lation to their beauty. 

The band struck up the national anthem at eleven o'clock, 



290 WILD OATS. 

which was the signal of her Majesty's arrival at the College. 
The boys immediately fell into their places for the procession, 
and when, a few minutes afterwards, the Queen made her ap- 
pearance at the window in the tower, such a shout arose from 
their lungs as did one's heart good to hear ; and there was such 
a waving of plumes and streamers, and such a renewing and 
repetition of cordial welcome, that we can well account for the 
slight flush that passed over the Queen's fair face when she 
looked at the delighted assembly of some hundreds of young 
hearts, many of them beating with the noblest blood in Eng- 
land, amidst whom her presence shed such joyous enthusiasm. 
It was- not the formal greeting of an adult assembly. They 
were all boys, and they cheered her with the overflowing fervour 
of a boys' devotion. 

As soon as order was somewhat restored, the procession round 
the Quadrangle commenced, headed by a military band, the 
space for the cortege being preserved by some of the Bifles, who 
were on duty at the Castle. The fortunate captain, the hero of 
the day, Mr. Thring, took his place immediately behind the 
band, dressed in full military costume. The polemen were sta- 
tioned two and two, at various distances, amongst the wearers 
of the fancy dresses, to whose brilliancy their blue jackets and 
white trousers formed an agreeable contrast. "We noticed 
amongst them one very little boy — so small, that he appeared 
the beau ideal of that class of miniature personages who come 
out of oyster-barrels and flower-pots in pantomimes. At the 
conclusion of the march we saw him no more. "We fear, that 
when the band laid down their instruments, he tumbled into 
one of the bugles, and there lay until the next player blew him 
out. 

After parading twice or three times round the Quadrangle, 
the ceremony of waving the College flag took place, under the 
window at which the Queen and her royal consort were seated. 
The ensign of the school, bearing a large crimson banner, now 
commenced a series of very extraordinary performances indeed 
with it, to which the flourishing of Miss "Woolford's flags, when 
that lady rode very fast round the Astley's arena upon the nan- 
keen-coloured horse, was as nothing. We marvelled much at 
his untiring energy, and the wonderful power of his wrist, 
which would have raised even Cartwright's jealousy. The only 
thing the whirling and twirling of the flag reminded us of was 



A VISIT TO ETOX MONTEM, 1841. 291 

the tomahawk performance of a black wild Indian we witnessed 
some years back at a perambulating penny show in Tottenham- 
court-road ; and in which we enjoyed a ride for nothing as far 
as Broad-street, St. Giles's, from the circumstance of our being 
one of the audience at the time the caravan was ordered off by 
the police of the P division. Seriously, however, the ensign 
displayed considerable dexterity. First, he whisked it about in 
one hand as if it had been a broadsword ; then he cut, in suc- 
cession, all the problems of Euclid in the air, as well as figures 
of eight, and strange diagrams only found in Skater's Pocket 
Companions ; next, he swung it round, passing it quickly from 
one hand to the other, and keeping the silk floating horizontally 
about him ; and he concluded his feats of dexterity by inclining 
the flag reverentially towards her Majesty, who was, no doubt, 
thinking, in common with every one else, how very hot and 
fatigued the poor young man must be, and what an immensity 
of practice and wrist- spraining was to be gone through before 
the present pitch of perfection could be arrived at. 

As soon as the applause which accompanied the last flutter 
of the banner had died away, a general rush took place towards 
the Playing-fields. "We elbowed our way with the rest into the 
cloisters of the inner Quadrangle, and thence along a curiously 
inconvenient passage, where the squeeze was terrific, until we 
came out once more into the open air, through a small postern- 
gate. The majority of the boys immediately scampered off, in 
a sort of running steeple-chase, towards Salt-hill, in order to 
arrive there before the Queen. Part of the visitors also left 
the College to seek their carriages — no very easy task ; others 
followed the line marked out by the boys ; and a few waited 
still in the Playing-fields, to see the royal cortege pass from 
the College, in which number of loiterers we were included. It 
was during this short delay that the Montem laureate intro- 
duced himself to us, with a request that we would purchase his 
" Ode." He was evidently " a fellow of infinite humour,'* and 
was tastefully attired in a fancy costume of glazed calico and 
window-curtains, which had an imposing effect. We invested 
sixpence in the purchase of his ode, and had no reason to 
grumble at our expenditure, for we derived much amusement 
from it. It is too long to introduce here, and being entirely 
local, would not be of sufficient interest. Some of the ideas, 
however, are not bad, and the rhyme throughout is very well kept 

u2 



292 WILD OATS. 

up. Here are four lines, introducing a couplet that put us in 
mind of some of the versifying conceits of the inimitable Thomas 
Ingoldsby : 

Grave Eallam tries to act the sergeant, 

And Neville, practising a frown, 
Almost as dreadful as a large ant, 

With martial terrors awes us down. 

As soon as the Queen and her suite had passed, we left the 
Playing-fields, and made the best of our way to the "Windmill 
Inn. Countless vehicles were crowding along the road, and 
thinking we might as well ride as walk, without waiting for the 
chance of any of our acquaintances overtaking us, we took ad- 
vantage of a slight check at the Slough-road gate, and estab- 
lished ourselves very comfortably on the footboard behind a 
handsome chariot that was going in the direction we wished. 
Here we maintained our seat, in spite of the malicious cries of 
"Whip behind !" which every little boy indulged in who per- 
ceived or envied us ; and thus, in great state, riding like a 
traitor, with our back to the horses — after being seen, of 
course, by everybody of our connexion whose notice we were 
most anxious to elude — did we arrive at Salt-hill. 

If the throng of carriages, horsemen, and foot-passengers 
had been great in the neighbourhood of the College, it was 
" confusion worse confounded" at Salt-hill ; indeed, it was with 
much difficulty, when the royal party arrived, that room could 
be cleared for their progress. In a short time, the boys again 
fell into their respective places in the procession, and the in- 
defatigable ensign again prepared to exhibit his powers of 
nourishing the flag upon the summit of the mount, on which 
station every one was enabled to catch a much better sight of 
his dexterity than when he was on a level with themselves in 
the crowded Quadrangle of the College. "We believe the origin 
of this ceremony is not known : it merely appears to have been 
coeval with the foundation of the College, as long back as the 
year 1440, when Henry VI. purchased the perpetual advowson 
of the parish of Eton for that purpose. The mound in ques- 
tion is supposed to be a Saxon barrow, and the contributions of 
" salt" (which, as the reader is doubtless aware, signifies the 
money collected for the captain of the school previous to his 
leaving for the University) are presumed to have derived the 
somewhat dubious title from a monkish procession which, in the 



1841. 293 

olden time, took place annually to this mount, and on which 
occasion consecrated salt was sold to the spectators. This may 
or may not be the case : we do not answer for the truth of the 
tradition, but merely give the reason as we have heard it. # 

At the conclusion of this part of the day's observances, the 
royal carriages departed, the Queen and Prince Albert receiv- 
ing the same hearty cheers which greeted their arrival, and 
which they acknowledged with extreme courtesy. It was long 
before the other carriages could be extricated ; they were locked 
together in so intricate a manner, that it was necessary to wait 
until the outer ones of the dense mass had cleared off, before 
the least attempt to move could be made. A course of whip- 
ping, plunging, and clashing then commenced, which can only 
be imagined by picturing the Haymarket after a crowded opera- 
night, if all the carriages had been allowed to come up just as 
their drivers chose, without paying the least attention to the 
regulations for the direction of their horses' heads and tails. 

A fresh rush to dinner now took place amongst the boys, and 
although we heard many imprecations launched against those 
who had abolished the " champagne tent," yet, by the alacrity 
with which they hurried to the Windmill, we perceived that 
the meal had still great attractions. We ourselves could have 
joined them with much pleasure ; but we were not of Eton and 
its school, and anything like quiet refreshment at the inn was 
out of the question. Fortunately, we lighted upon some friends, 
at whose carriage we procured the usual race-course sort of 
luncheon, of dusty sandwiches and warm sherry, which was, 
nevertheless, very acceptable. A vast portion of company still 
remained, and these were admitted to Botham's Grardens, upon 

* Since the above -was written, we have been favoured with the following 
information : It is the opinion of Mr. Lysons, that the Eton Montem origi- 
nated in the ceremonial of the Bairn, or Boy-Bisbop. He states that it origi- 
nally took place on the 6th of December, the festival of St. Nicholas, the 
patron of children, being the day on which it was customary to elect the Boy- 
Bishop from among the children belonging to the cathedral or college. This 
mock dignity lasted till Innocents' day, and during the intermediate time the 
boy performed various episcopal functions. If it happened that he died before 
the allotted period of this singular assumption had expired, he was buried with 
all the ceremonials which are used at the funerals of prelates. In the collec- 
tion of antiquities bequeathed by Mr. Cole to the British Museum, there is a 
note which mentions that Geoffry Blythe, Bishop of Lichfield, who died in 1530, 
bequeathed several ornaments to Eton College, " for the dress of the Bairn- 
Bishop." 



294 . WILD OATS. 

each presenting a ticket, which was to be purchased for a shil- 
ling, at the bar of the Windmill. 

How the dinner went off, we cannot tell ; the chronicles of 
this part of the ceremony remain a sealed book to the vulgar. 
It was, doubtless, of first-rate excellence, and the carte indis- 
putably perfect ; for the Eton boys are " queer customers" if 
they think they are not treated in a manner befitting their im- 
portance ; and glass, moreover, is of a fragile and perishable 
nature. We doubt not that they were well entertained, for 
their countenances were of most hilarious expression, when they 
sallied forth into the gardens at the conclusion of the banquet. 
And now began the scene of spoliation, for which the company 
had been waiting the last hour in patient expectation. The 
swords, which up to the present time had rested idly in their 
scabbards, now flashed wildly in the air, and a general attack 
was made upon everything in the gardens endowed with vege- 
table existence. The first onset took place against a hollow 
square of cabbages, which they charged as furiously as did the 
Cuirassiers against our own human parallelograms at Waterloo; 
and in two minutes, nothing but stumps remained. Potatoes, 
lettuces, and asparagus followed, without appeasing their fury : 
on the contrary, the taste of sap seemed to have given fresh 
edges to their swords ; and when not even a currant or goose- 
berry bush was left, half a dozen of the most stalwart warriors 
directed their attacks upon a large apple-tree, which, after being 
much hacked about, tumbled to the ground amidst the cheers 
of the bystanders. In another quarter of an hour, the bloom- 
ing Eden was converted into a blank desert ; not a plant being 
left to sigh out the story of the destruction of its companions 
to the next zephyr which came that way on its road from Lon- 
don to Bath. The last object on which they attempted to wreak 
their remaining vengeance was the garden-roller ; but its cast- 
iron cylinder resisted their most strenuous efforts ; and having 
broken two or three of their swords sharp off at the hilt, they 
abandoned the attempt in despair. 

Boyish and trifling as was this part of the day's festivities, 
there was much in it to afford food for the reflection of a philoso- 
pher, even in the midst of the turmoil of the Windmill Gardens. 
Many who were now turning their bloodless weapons against 
a shrub or currant-tree, might hereafter occupy a well-earned 
and honourable position in the list of our country's defenders. 
The Cabinet, the Bar, and the Church would, perhaps, each draw 



1841. 295 

its most brilliant members from the frolic crowd of thoughtless 
youths who were now revelling joyously in the ruin they were 
creating ; and the pastime of the present day — the trifling oc- 
currence of a passing moment — might, years hence, recal 
thoughts of the Montem and its harmless follies, amidst medi- 
tations of a deeper and sterner cast, when those who now 
entered into its observances with the careless enthusiasm of 
boyhood, had themselves become the parents of the next 
generation. 

It was generally understood, in consequence of the departure 
of the Queen for London after the second display of the flag, 
that the usual promenade upon the terrace of Windsor Castle 
would be transferred to the Playing-fields of Eton College ; and 
the change was greatly for the better. As soon as the diver- 
sions in the gardens had terminated, there was a temporary ces- 
sation of proceedings, until the call of "absence" in the pre- 
cincts of the College, at six o'clock — the term absence being 
applied, somewhat contradictorily, to the reading over the roll 
of boys' names who are supposed to be present. "We took ad- 
vantage of this entr'acte to inspect the schoolrooms and dor- 
mitories of the College, which are certainly contrived with a 
praiseworthy disregard of splendour or decoration, nothing 
more costly than plain unpainted board being anywhere to be 
found. We afterwards paid a visit to the Library, which is 
well worth seeing. Amongst several remarkable objects of in- 
terest, we were shown a curious map of Pekin, the production 
of a Chinese artist ; a small box of slips of papyrus, on which is 
written a manuscript in an Oriental character ; and some early 
illuminated missals, including a French Bible, and an elaborate 
Homan history. The quiet of these rooms, which look into the 
cloisters of the inner Quadrangle, formed a singular contrast to 
the noise and revelry that reigned without. In the apartment 
appropriated to the provost there is a portrait, painted on a 
panel, of Jane Shore ; we were informed that a former provost 
of Eton College officiated as her confessor, and that it was 
under his orders that the present portrait was taken. The hair 
is of the true Saxon auburn, and the forehead high and intel- 
lectual ; but we could not discover in the features those traces 
of beauty which led to this fair creature's ultimate infamy and 
death. 

By half-past six o'clock, the Playing-fields presented a most 
animated spectacle, as most of the morning's company were 



296 WILD OATS. 

reunis on this fine tract of pasture, as well as the whole of the 
boys ; and two military bands played continually during the 
evening, which was pre-eminently fine. The indefatigable salt- 
bearers were still working hard at their calling, and they singled 
out with scrutinising gaze any individual who had no green 
ticket displayed to frank him from further demands. A hand- 
some collection had been the result of their labours, the captain 
receiving exactly 1233Z. 13s. lOd. ; out of which sum, however, 
he had various expenses to defray, which amounted to nearly- 
half. Most of the boys were promenading with their friends, 
and it was gratifying to see the guileless pride with which 
the younger branches of the different families clustered round 
their brothers — with what ecstatic admiration the little girls 
regarded the scarlet and gold heroes, who, for that day at least, 
would not have changed places with any one in England. Some 
of the boys were sleeping on the grass, under the fine trees ; 
we heard that several had scarcely closed their eyes throughout 
the preceding night, and all were moving between four and five 
in the morning. Indeed, the salt-bearers and their oppidans 
had worked like horses ; and certain of them had no trifling 
distance to travel over in the performance of their duties, as, 
independently of their demands upon the visitors, it is their 
custom to call at the houses of the families in the neighbour- 
hood for salt, and some of these are situated five or six miles 
from Eton. 

By nine o'clock, all was again quiet : the company had de- 
parted, and with them the glories of the Montem for three 
more years. Eor that period the flag will sleep in tranquil 
inactivity, and the cloisters will resume their wonted gravity. 
Many who participate in its boyish parade will, ere its next 
celebration, have been scattered over the earth, and, perhaps, 
found distant homes in strange lands. Others will be gra- 
dually following the path to fame in the course of life that 
destiny has allotted to them, and some — but we will stop all 
gloomy anticipations. Let us hope that all who, this year, 
witnessed the Montem and its mimic glories, may be enabled 
to enter into the spirit of the succeeding ceremonial, without 
one bitter thought or retrospection of aught that has occurred 
since they last gazed upon its harmless pageantry. 



( 297 ) 



XXXVIII. 

HOW MR. STRAGGLES ATE WHITEBAIT AT GREENWICH. 

July came on, and it was more hot than ever in London. 
You might have poached eggs on the pavement, and there was 
no shade anywhere. Even in Covent-garden the strawberries 
sweltered and baked in their pottles ; the gold and silver fish 
languished in globes of tepid water ; Mary Johnson's bouquets 
drooped over their lacework papers ; and the heat forced the 
crimson pendants of the fuchsias into long pink trumpets, 
which, being blown, shrivelled and died. 

The only thing cool in all London was the block of Wenham 
Lake ice in the Strand, and that appeared to be perspiring at 
such a rate that its dissolution was always being immediately 
expected. The curds-and-whey on the stalls positively steamed, 
and the small dusty high-dried crabs, at three a penny, rattled 
again, as every one became its own oven. How the gasping 
passengers in the omnibuses survived the inside transit is dif- 
ficult to conceive ; the Kre King himself would have suffered. 
The only people who underwent but little inconvenience were 
the cooks at the chop-houses, and the stokers in the river steam- 
boats, and they never perceived any difference, as they faced 
their ever glowing ranges and furnaces. But the wild beasts 
under the mighty bell-glasses at the Surrey Zoological Gardens 
yawned, and blinked, and stretched themselves out at full length 
upon the hot floor of their dens, and thought they were once 
more at home, dreaming of torrid jungles, and simoons, and 
scorching sands, until cool evening dispelled the illusion, and 
the besieging of Gibraltar, with its rockets, and drums, and 
crackers, recalled them once more to a sense of their true 
position. 

_ No one suffered more from heat than did Mr. Straggles in 
his small chambers before alluded to, immediately under the 
roof, which now collectively formed a hot-house, wherein he 
might have grown pine-apples. He could not get cold. He 
opened all the doors and windows, but a draught of heated air 



298 WILD OATS. 

was all that came to refresh him. He left off wearing waist- 
coats, and bought a blouse, but he only felt the oppressiveness 
of the sun the more when he put on his ordinary attire to go 
out ; and then he longed to be July, as Spenser once described 
that month; envied the performers in the Poses Plastiques, 
and fell into some wild notion of taking the diving-bell at the 
Polytechnic Institution for a week, and living at the bottom of 
the tank. 

But it was worst of all when he went to his dinner. He 
took this meal, generally, at the restaurant of an ingenious 
foreigner, somewhere in the rear of the National Gallery, who 
was reported to have the right of shooting over Leicester- 
square, to supply the varied preparations of rabbits on his carte. 
Here it was that Mr. Straggles could scarcely breathe. For 
the soups, and the gravies, and the stews, the plates of pallid 
meat, and the tough and piping portions of unholy puddings, 
formed such a hot thickened atmosphere, that the very flies had 
difficulty in forcing their way through it to the open windows, 
from which dense vapours might be seen rolling ; and these, 
diluted with the air, pervaded the neighbourhood for some dis- 
tance round to such an extent, that you might almost have be- 
lieved the inhabitants lived upon the odours. Mr. Straggles 
stood this a long time, for the place was cheap, and the races 
had cost him so much money that he was obliged to retrench. 
But at length he got nearly stewed himself, and in a desperate 
plight of not knowing what to do next, formed Arcadian plans 
for living on bread and fruits, or periwinkles and pickled eels, 
beneath the coolest arcades of Hungerford. " Ullow ! Straggy !" 
said a voice down the letter-box to our hero. " Are you at 
home ?" 

"What, Joe!" exclaimed Mr. Straggles, stopping in the 
attempt he had persevered in for some months to play the 
minor part of "The Standard-Bearer" on his octave flute. 
" That's not you ?" 

" Isn't it though : look out." 

And then the end of a small walking-stick was pushed through 
the letter slit, and the box opened, not having a trustworthy 
fastening, as its contents fell on the floor. Mr. Straggles' s box 
formed the receptacle for all sorts of fugitive donations, pre- 
sented by the men in the other chambers, as they went up and 
down stairs — kings and knaves of playing-cards, cherry-stones, 
straws from sherry-cobblers, pit checks of theatres the night 



HOW ME. STEAGGLES ATE WHITEBAIT AT GEEENWICH. 299 

before, advertising tailors' brochures, sometimes crackers, and 
once he found a mouse. 

" Come in, old fellow : who'd have throught of seeing you?" 

The new arrival looked something like a fashionable gentle- 
man who had been kept from last year, with a dash of the Lei- 
cester-square foreigner about him. He had only one glove, 
which he held in his hand, and this had once been yellow. His 
boots, though trodden out and cracked at the outside, were 
intensely polished, and had long toes which somewhat turned 
up ; and protuberances at the ankle, before and behind, under 
the trousers, which were strapped down, showed that they were 
shorts. He had a long black stock, much perforated by pins, 
and no collar ; in fact, the general style of his get-up was the 
" seedy," a word implying approaching extermination as for- 
cibly as reproduction. 

" Why, Joe, what a Mossoo you look !" said Mr. Straggles. 

" Mossoo," was the Straggles for " Monsieur," picked up 
from a course of six lessons in French, and the received stage 
pronunciation, and applied by our friend generally to all foreign 
gentlemen of peculiarly continental cut. 

" And where have you been ?" he added. 

" Boulogne, sir, Eoulogne — the land of the free. Ever since 
the railways blew up, I have been obliged to come to Dan 
Tucker. Eh, twig ? pheugh ! yerg ! yerg ! yerg !" 

And here the friend put himself in an attitude of banjo- 
playing with his stick, made Ethiopian noises, and lyrically 
described the excitement caused by the coming to town of the 
person above named. 

" But I say, Joe, where have you been living ?" 

" Till within two months on board the Wore Light — provi- 
sional director of the floating beacon. They never thought of 
looking for me there. I've made great friends with the keeper ; 
very jolly fellow, who never goes on shore, because he says it 
makes him so sick. He gets qualmish sometimes on board, 
when it's calm." 
. " Are you all right now ?" 

" Sight as twenty trivets : only they'd have me, if they could, 
about that cursed Slushpool and Landmark Heatb Extension. 
There must be as many writs out against me as, pasted together, 
would reach the whole length of the line ?" 

" Then what are you here for ?" 

" Oh ! I was obliged to come over. I've got a plan, and 



300 WILD OATS. 

been sitting up all night with capitalists and accountants to 
carry it out. Ten thousand pounds down, and half a million a 
year safe." 

" Have you got the ten thousand down, Joe ?" 

" No ; but as good — as good. I'm going back to Boulogne 
to-night to see about it." 

Mr. Straggles thought that Boulogne, from what he had 
heard of it, was not exactly the place to go for ten thousand 
pounds ; but he knew his friend, and did not say anything. 

For Mr. Joseph Flitter, as he was called, lived in a self- 
created world of gigantic schemes, and had never been out of 
hot water since Mr. Straggles had known him. Their agencies 
had first thrown them together, and they had never met but 
he had something to propose that must return five hundred 
per cent. No matter what the scheme was ; he got up com- 
panies, and railways, and newspapers, with equal facility. When 
a junction-bank failed he started a floating-bath, with the same 
prospects of liquidation ; and as soon as he found that one 
bushel of the new argillaceous shale would not fuel a steamer 
over the Atlantic, he had the galvanic decomposition of water 
patent all ready, the apparatus for which, to work the Great 
"Western, could be put under a hat. 

" I suspect one or two are on the look-out for me," said Mr. 
Flitter ; " so I'll tell you how I'm going to Boulogne. That 
London-bridge wharf is never safe. Sir, I believe the writs 
walk about there bolt upright by themselves, all day long, 
to catch the passengers. But the steward of the boat is a 
capital fellow ; I wear coats and shawls on shore for him, and 
carry uncorked bottles of brandy ; and he is going to look out 
for me, and hook on to a boat if I'll be in it, off the Isle of 
Dogs to-night. JSow, where do you dine ?" 

Mr. Straggles suggested the place above mentioned, near 
Leicester-square. 

" Oh no, no!" said Mr. Flitter. " Fancy this weather, too — 
pah ! Let's dine at Greenwich, eh ? Do the thing for once ; 
oceans of water souchee ; swamps of stewed eels ; no end of 
salmon cutlets ; pyramids of whitebait ; and an acre of brown 
bread-and-butter. ' ' 

"Beautiful!" cried Mr. Straggles, carried away by his 
friend's enthusiasm. 

" I believe you, my boy," continued Mr. Flitter. " Gallons 
of cyder-cup, too, and Badminton. Iced punch ! ducks ! peas ! 



HOW ME. STEAGGLES ATE WHITEBAIT AT GEEENWICH. 301 

cutlets ! and brown bread-and-butter again ! And then the 
wine, and the river, and the strawberries ! Ah !" 

This time Mr. Straggles sighed. 

" But it costs so much, Joe," he added, sadly. 

" Cost be (something) 'd," replied Mr. Flitter. "You can 
do it at all prices. Look here" — and he pulled a small bill from 
his pocket — " ' Tea with shrimps, a shilling ; ditto with children, 
sixpence.' " 

" I don't seem to care much about children," observed Mr. 
Straggles. 

" No — no nonsense, Straggy. I mean to pay, you know. 
You shall be my guest, and see me off. I say, you haven't got 
such a thing as a pair of boots to lend a fellow, have you ? 
Yours would fit me." 

Mr. Straggles had a cherished pair with red tops, so smart, 
that he often regretted that he could not wear them outside 
his trousers, when they would have given him the air of a Polka 
nobleman. Under other circumstances he would not have 
thought of lending them, but Mr. Flitter was going to stand 
the dinner, so he brought them from his bedroom. 

" But I say, Joe," he asked, "if you are off to Boulogne, 
what will become of my boots ?" 

" Oh — all right. You must come with me as far as Graves - 
end, just to see me off; you can get back for a shilling, and 
take your boots with you. A collar, too, I think ; yes, a 
collar, and then I shall be slap up. Recollect — for I've got 
business to do, and must be off — if we don't meet again, the 
Hospital Terrace, at seven o'clock." 

Mr. Flitter went into Mr. Straggles's room, and put on the 
articles, and then took his departure. 

At five p.m. Mr. Straggles locked his outer door, and went 
to London-bridge by water for a farthing, in a new steamer 
called The Earwig, and then waited on the pier, and enjoyed 
a penn'orth of cherries, as he watched the flock of steamers 
crowding along the river. 

" Now, who's for Grinnidge ?" bawled a man. " Outside 
boat!" 

Mr. Straggles took his ticket, and found the boat would start 
at the half-hour; but as it wanted a few minutes, he went back 
to buy another bunch of cherries, to beguile the journey. He 
was kept a little time waiting for change, the woman having 
hunted under every leaf in her basket for the coppers, and he 



302 WILD OATS. 

then went and took his place in the outside boat, by the man 
at the wheel, just as she was starting. 

" I say !" exclaimed Mr. Straggles, as the boat appeared to 
be off the wrong way, " where are you going to ?" 

" 'Ungerford," was the reply. 

" Bat I'm going to Greenwich!" 

" No, that you isn't ; leastwise now," said the man. " That's 
the G-rinnidge boat just moving." 

" They told me it was the outside one," cried Mr. Straggles. 

" So she was till we come round," said the man. " This 
here's The Earywig." 

The very boat he had come by ! But there was no appeal, 
so Mr. Straggles went back to Hungerford, and there had to 
wait half an hour for the next chance, in which interval the 
tide turned the wrong way. But at last the hospitable "Water- 
man No. 9 received him, and he got fairly off, looking ruefully 
at the unavailable ticket he had before taken, and munching 
his cherries rather than enjoying them. 

But the journey to Greenwich by water on a bright after- 
noon, with a whitebait dinner in anticipation, is not calculated 
to nourish blue devils, albeit it does good to spirits generally. 
There is so much to look at, and it is always amusing, even if 
you have gone backwards and forwards every day, from the 
restless, scuffling, swarming steamers, to the lumbering barges, 
that will get in the way of everything by choice, as the man, 
pulling them by the heavy oars — or rather conceiving that he 
does so — appears so disproportioned to his work, as the diligent 
flea who draws the man-of-war; old tumble-down wharfs, 
and crazy public-houses with singularly unsafe galleries, and 
warehouses so lofty that they have as many stories as the 
" Arabian Nights," as Mr. Straggles pleasantly observed ; little 
boys bathing in the mud under the shelter of stranded lighters ; 
heavy continental boats, like drowsy leviathans, just breathing 
from their funnels, with their crew idling over the sides ; huge 
manufactories of articles hitherto unheard of, or scarcely sup- 
posed important enough to have a room for themselves ; and a 
border of flag-staffs, steeples, chimneys, scafl'olds, and more 
ships, out and away at the distance, and apparently built into 
the very heart of London, — all these things furnish plenty to 
look at. And so Mr. Straggles forgot his lost ticket, and de- 
termined to make up for his loss by not having a cigar for two 
days, unless somebody gave him one. 



HOTV 3IE. STRAGGLES ATE WHITEBAIT AT GKEENWICH. 303 

He got to Greenwich safely, and found AEr. Flitter on the 
Terrace, accompanied by whom he went to one of the taverns 
that look so agreeably on the realms of the whitebait beyond 
the Hospital. There was a large private dinner in the regular 
coffee-room, so a smaller apartment on the ground floor had 
been substituted for it, and here AEr. Flitter and Air. Straggles 
fortunately got a table by the window, as a party was just 
leaving. Air. Straggles unfolded his napkin, and disposed his 
green-and-white wine glasses, and assumed the air of a bon- 
vivant, as though he had always dined at the Clarendon. 

The room was quite full. There was that pleasant buzz of 
life which always makes a coffee-room dinner so agreeable, and, 
to our thin k ing, assists digestion. Air. Flitter ordered a course 
offish — "the usual thing." he said, "with a duck and peas, or 
something of the sort" — then he inquired of his friend what he 
usually drank. AEr. Straggles usually took half-and-half: but 
the elegant atmosphere of the room, and the contiguity of 
ladies, awed and refined his feelings, and he suggested " pale 
ale." 

" Oh, of course," said AEr. Flitter; "but I mean besides. 
Punch, you know." 

" Certainly, certainly," said AEr. Straggles. 

" And Badminton, eh? — of course, some Badminton?" con- 
tinued AEr. Flitter. 

" Of course," said AEr. Straggles, as he felt that the ladies 
were looking at them. But if AEr. Flitter, instead of Badmin- 
ton, had suggested Chippenham, or Devizes, or Cricklade Cup, 
the answer would have been the same. 

The fish was brought, and then, in his first excitement, Air. 
Straggles quietly told Mr. Flitter that he had never dined at 
Greenwich before. "Whereupon AEr. Flitter told him to eat lots 
of everything, and then he would do the proper thing. 

So Mr. Straggles commenced with water souchee (which at 
first he conceived to be flounder broth), and ate all the parsley 
into the bargain, and then got timid at the imposing waiter 
who came to change his plate, and said he preferred the same ; 
but this the man would not allow by any means, and took it 
away with a strong-minded effort. After which, AEr. Straggles 
was lost in admiration of the stewed eels, and in wonder at the 
pickles which nestled amidst the salmon cutlets, and in fear at 
the pyramid of whitebait which soon made its appearance ; so 
much so, that he drank deeply of punch to regain his presence 



304 WILD OATS. 

of mind. And then he watched Mr. Flitter closely — how he 
slanted his plate with a wedge of bread, whilst he squeezed the 
lemon over the cayenne pepper ; how he helped himself reck- 
lessly to ravenous quantities, and devoured them as voraciously: 
all this Mr. Straggles did, even to slapping one bit of brown 
bread-and-butter upon another, face to face, as carelessly as 
though he had done so for years. 

" Well, Straggy," said Mr. Flitter, "what do you think of 
whitebait ? "What are they like ?" 

" I can't make out," replied his friend. " Baked curl papers 
I should say were the nearest things to them. But the bread- 
and-butter' s first rate." 

" More bait," ordered Mr. Flitter ; and more after that; and 
then devilled bait ; and the Badminton. Capital stuff it was, 
too. " I'll tell you how to make that," said that gentleman. 
" Pour out a bottle of vin ordinaire into a jug, and shoot a 
bottle of soda-water into it. Add some sugar, and some knobs 
of Wenham ice. Put a suspicion of your favourite liqueur, or 
a phantom of lemon-peel, into it, and there you are. Ah !" 

This last expression accompanied a deep draught, which Mr. 
Straggles imitated to perfection, as the devilled bait had made 
his throat all of a blaze. And upon this he put pale ale, finish- 
ing with champagne, which Flitter would order. 

" I don't seem to care much about any more to eat," said 
Mr. Straggles, as he felt the whitebait almost up to his throat. 

" Oh, but you must. Here are lovely peas ! and duck, too ! 
or perhaps you'd like some of this ham?" 

Mr. Straggles thought he would ; it was less to eat. But it 
was so salt that he was obliged to have some more Badminton, 
and soon got very jolly flideed. 

" This is doing it, Joe, isn't it ?" he said. 

" Bather," answered Mr. Flitter. " Waiter, some of that 
old port." 

" And strawberries, sir? — yes, sir," replied the man. 

The dessert came ; and the day wore away. The sunset gun 
was fired ; the yachts below the taverns took down their flags ; 
and the lights alone, before long, marked the passage of the 
steamers towards the Pool. The company, too, left the coffee- 
room ; but the large party up-stairs, who were going to finish 
with a ball, kept the tavern alive ; and as, in addition, Mr. 
Flitter told the waiters he expected a friend to sup there be- 
fore he started from the Aberdeen wharf at midnight, they 






HOW ME. STRAGGLES ATE WHITEBAIT AT GREENWICH. 305 

were not disturbed. Mr. Straggles had drunk himself into a 
halo of poetry and romance, and when the band above played 
"The Standard-Bearer Quadrilles," he sang the song so loudly 
that the boys below the windows cheered him for very admira- 
tion. All this time Mr. Flitter was looking anxiously from the 
window upon the river, as, like Mariana, he gazed " athwart 
the glooming flats" of the Isle of Dogs. At last he said, 
when Mr. Straggles had uttered his dying declaration that he 
would not name the lady of his love, 

" Straggy, you haven't such a thing as five pounds about 
you, have you?" 

" Lord, Joe ! no !" replied Mr. Straggles, as much astonished 
at the possibility even of such a thing being entertained for an 
instant by his friend, as aghast at the question. 

" Because," continued Mr. Flitter, " I must have had my 
pocket picked coming down ; I can't find my purse." 

" Why ! what can we do ?" cried Mr. Straggles, now in real 
terror. 

" "Well, I can't see exactly ; we must get away without 
paying." 

" Without paying ! Now, Joe, don't ! we shall be taken up 
for swindlers." 

" "We shall, if we stay," said Mr. Flitter. " But of course I 
shall pay ; you shall bring back the money." 

" I won't go away," answered Mr. Straggles, now quite 
gravely. " I'll stop in pawn." 

" You can't. Now look here, Straggy. "Would you ruin me, 
your friend, and dash down ten thousand pounds at a blow ? 
Ha ! here he is. Stop !" 

As he spoke, the plash of a pair of sculls was heard, and a 
boat came underneath the window. A waiter entered the room 
at the same time, so that Mr. Flitter could not attend to it ; but 
he ordered coffee, and, the minute the door closed, he beckoned 
to the waterman, who stuck a note on a boat-hook, and gave it 
to him. 

"I thought so," said Mr. Flitter, as he read it hurriedly. 
" Some of them have seen me in London, and Sloman knows I'm 
here. It's about the time, too. Wait a minute." 

Mr. Straggles did as he was ordered — he could do nothing 
else — and waited in great fear and trepidation. 

As soon at the coffee was brought, Mr. Flitter placed a bottle 
of wine that was on the sideboard in Mr. Straggles's hand j and 

x 



306 WILD OATS. 

assuming a determined sepulchral voice, pointed to the river and 
said, 

" Descend into the boat !" 

"What! there! Pooh! stuff! I can't. What do you 
mean ?" 

" What I say ; the bailiffs are after me, and I shouldn't 
wonder if they take you too, as an accomplice. Get into the 
boat ; we have not a second to spare. Away !" 

Bewildered with the dilemma and the drink, Mr. Straggles 
took the bottle, and climbed down the iron work in front of the 
window, scarcely knowing what he did. Mr. Flitter followed, 
when, as he was stepping down, he heard a cry, followed by a 
plunge amongst the billows on his lee, which the last steamer 
had called up, and, on turning round, could just see the luck- 
less Straggles disappearing under the surface of the water, his 
hand in the air, however, clutching the brandy bottle as firmly 
as his friend " The Standard-Bearer" ever did his colours. In 
his flurry he had stepped on the side of the boat and gone over. 
Fortunately, however, it was not deep. Mr. Flitter and the 
waterman pulled him in again ; and then the former said, " Go 
ahead !" as the dark form of the Boulogne boat was observable 
coming down the river. 

" Now, give way !" he said. " Get as close as you can on 
her larboard side, and go as if you were trying to race her." 

As Mr. Flitter had expected, there was somebody on board 
looking out. When the boat came up, the man pulled near 
enough to her paddles to be interesting ; a rope was thrown 
out and caught, and, when it was dragged amidst the boiling 
water in their wake to the side, Mr. Flitter pulled Mr. Straggles 
after him, and they stood on the deck. The waterman received 
a few shillings ; a hurried recognition passed with the steward, 
who appeared to be a friend ; a waiter was seen looking out of 
the distant coffee-room window ; and the Boulogne boat kept 
on as if nothing had happened. 

"I'm dripping!" were the first words that Mr. Straggles 
uttered, as, with chattering teeth and trembling frame, he formed 
a small pond about him on the deck, till it ran out at the 
scuppers. 

" Dear, dear ! of course you are," said Mr. Flitter. " Here, 
come down to a berth, and get off your clothes as quickly as 
possible, and take some brandy." 

Mr. Flitter dragged Mr. Straggles down to the cabin, and 
assisted him to skin off his wet clothing. Then making him 



HOW ME. STRAGGLES ATE WHITEBAIT AT GREENWICH. 307 

swallow a glass of pure brandy, he put him into a "berth, and 
told him to keep warm whilst his clothes were dried in the 
engine-room ; and that he would let him know when they 
were near Gravesend, where he could be at once put on board 
the first steamer that was going up to town in the morning. 

TP h VF tP w w 

Mr. Straggles had curious visions. He dreamt he was a 
whitebait in a river of Badminton, wearing patent boots with 
red tops, and fighting for liberty and truth as Mr. Mitter's 
standard-bearer; then everybody he knew in the world was 
dining with him in a vast coffee-room, where all the tables kept 
going round and round in the air like an up-and-down at a fair, 
when the river rose, and all the fish got out of their dishes and 
attacked the company, until they called in the pensioners, who 
drove them out of the window ; and as a beautiful girl of the 
party was just going to ask him to take her out for a row in a 
continental steamer, he awoke. 

It was broad daylight. The paddles had ceased to work, and 
the people had left their berths, and were now rushing down 
and snatching bags and baskets from remote corners of the 
cabin, ere they hurried up again. There were many feet shuf- 
fling overhead, and uncouth voices were heard vociferating un- 
intelligibly all at once. 

" Gravesend !" cried Mr. Straggles, as he started up ; " and 
I am undressed ! Halloo ! Steward, where are my things ?" 

" All right, sir," said the man, bringing his things dry and 
folded. " "We've had a rough passage, though." 

" Passage ! Why, where are we ?" 

" I thought you'd wonder," said the steward. " You slept 
so heavily we couldn't rouse you, all we could do ; so Mr. Flitter 
said we had better leave you alone. Where do you go ?" 

" Oh ! back to London by the next boat." 

" Tes, sir, that's the Harlequin, she goes at twelve to-night ; 
and there's the Magician, to Dover ; and the Queen of the 
French, to Folkestone, at eight to-morrow morning." 

" Dover ! Folkestone !" gasped Mr. Straggles. " What the 
devil do you mean ? Where am I ?" 

" Just under the douane, sir, in Boulogne harbour," was the 
reply. 

Mr. Straggles gave a shriek of anguish, and covering his face 
with the sheet, to the discomfort of his legs, gave way to the 
wildest despair. 

x2 



( 308 ) 



XXXIX. 

MR. STRAGGLES HAS A DAY'S FISHING. 

Me. Straggles contrived to get back from Boulogne, to 
which place he had been so unceremoniously carried against his 
will. But if Mr. Roberts, of the boardiug-house upon the port, 
had not kindly given him credit until he got a remittance from 
England, he would have been in a sad way, for his friend ap- 
peared to be no better off in Prance than at home, in spite of 
his gigantic expectations ; in fact, he disappeared suddenly one 
night after a game of billiards at the cafe, at the corner of the 
Grande Rue, and was never heard of again. The men who were 
building the new bridge that crosses to Capecure, dragged 
the harbour; and the gardeners below the ramparts of the 
Haute Ville searched the ground for the body, believing that 
he had committed suicide in consequence of his losses that 
evening, which were known to be great. But as the winners 
never got anything, it was fairly presumed that Mr. Flitter had 
never paid them ; and as no body was found, it was also, with 
some plausibility, conceived that he had not made away with 
himself. In Boulogne, however, he was not. After the first 
shock, Mr. Straggles got on well enough. There were some 
pleasant people at the house, and it fortunately was not a busy 
time in London, so that he did not fret at his absence. He 
walked to Portel and Wimereux, and half fell in love with a 
pretty girl who waited at the inn at Wimille, on the right hand 
of the route going towards Calais, and if she is still there she 
will repay the walk. He went to the balls at the Etablissement 
and Salle Delplanque,and knocked over more old ladies and chairs 
in his polking than had ever been known ; he had cheap baths 
from the little sentry-boxes that wheel down to the edge of the 
tide ; he walked through mud to the chapel of the hamlet of 
Jesus Elagelle, and was perfectly scared at the votive offerings 
hung round it ; he joined in all the rows about the parsons 
which so interest the English residents ; and, finally, was sorry 
when he left. But it was a case of " must," so he braced up 



MR. STRAGGLES HAS A DAY'S FISHING. 309 

his nerves, and gave his last farewell to his fellow-boarders, 
who ran along the pier, by the side of the steamer, to see him 
off, and finally waved their handkerchiefs from the rounded ex- 
tremity, until the Queen of the French was out of sight, on her 
way to Folkestone. For a few weeks after he returned, Mr. 
Straggles kept very quiet, for his funds partook of what the 
City articles called " the general tightness of the money 
market." He limited his dinner to a shilling, and gave up all 
notion of cabs anywhere. He found discarded clothes of past 
gaiety, at the bottoms of his drawers, that would still do — in 
fact, like old clothes generally, they were wonderfully improved 
by inaction, for turning an old coat into drawers is as beneficial 
as turning a worn horse out to grass. He did without suppers, 
and never went to the play but with a newspaper order — not an 
actor's, because he knew he should pay for it with remarkable 
interest when the benefits came round. Instead of having his 
pennyworth of the Times every day, he found out some coffee- 
rooms where he- could indulge in the fragrant berry, or what- 
ever it was, at a cheap rate, and could read the papers for 
nothing ; and whenever he felt elastic, and wanted an excursion, 
he paid a penny, and rode from London-bridge to Hungerford 
and back again, or took a short trip in a Parliamentary train, 
and walked home. But through it all he was still the same 
joyous Straggles. 

It was a touching thing, though, when his friends called upon 
him as they were leaving town. One was going to Gravesend 
— that was Mr, Knapps, of Mincing-lane ; another was on his 
way to Ramsgate — that was Mr. Howard, of the West-end em- 
porium. Mr. Brown, of Brixton, came to inquire about Bou- 
logne; and Mr. Bicketts, the stockbroker, spoke largely of 
pheasants in Surrey. In fact, everybody was off somewhere, 
and Mr. Straggles not liking to be thought behind them, kept 
a gun in his chamber, which he always began to oil and polish 
when any one came to the door, hung up a shooting-coat and 
fishing-basket behind it, threw old gaiters and thick shoes 
carelessly about the floor, and hoisted an ancient hat, with 
artificial fly-hooks stuck all round it, on the back of an old arm- 
chair, telling everybody that he meant " to see what the barbel 
were like next week," which, as he had not the least idea, was, 
in a measure, a praiseworthy and instructive investigation. 

"What ! going fishing ?" asked his friend Mr. Hackle, one 
day, when he called. 



310 WILD OAT5. 

Mr. Hackle was a decided fisherman ; that is to say. he be- 
lling properties of baits that the fish could never 
>. by any .;".:;.-_; ^have met with before — old cheese, rusty 
bacon, raw dough, and the like. He never caught a fish, were 
it only a bleak, but he allowed it to play and flap about on the 
top of the water before he pulled it out. He never crossed a 
rirule: without stopping to watch it with much affection for 
m hour, perfectly satisfied if, at the end of that period, he 
saw a roach wriggling up against the stream ; and he never 
:. a weedy, froggy, willow-bordered swamp, but he would 
say, - I'll be bound there are some fine jack there." Au reste, 
he wore blue spectacles, and made other things he fondly be- 
lieved to be flies, from bits of old hat, bed feathers, and the 
lining of chairs. 

'•Straggles," observed 3Ir. Hackle, "you coop yourself up 
too much — quite like a caddis worm ; you want air and exer- 
cise. Come with me for a dav's fishing. I see vou've got a 
basket." 

It was all 3Ir. Straggles had got in the angling line, and 
even that had not been purchased for its proper purpose. On 
short trips, he was accustomed, once upon a rime, to carry his 
wardrobe in it ; but now he had given that up. For the rude 
omnibus cads used to call him a ''jolly fisherman," and " young 
Ikey "Walton," and the little dirty boys persisted in walking by 
his side, singing. K In the days when we went hangling, a long 
time ago," and ]\Ir. Straggles could never stand the little boys. 
Once, to be sure, he had taken to fish, mildly, in the Serpentine, 
but the boys drove him away : for they used to come and sit 
down by his side, entering into conversation, without any en- 
couragement or introduction, recommending him to u Pull him 
out, sir ; you've got him at last l" telling him, " There's a bite !" 
examining his kettle, and committing other familiarities, until at 
last they came to pelting his float, which ultimately drove him 
away. 

However, he agreed to go with 'Mr. Hackle ; and he bought 
a cheap rod and. line at a fishing-tackle-maker's, whose stock 
was so large that he had been for years selling it off u at an 
enormous sacrifice," and who kept a tin fish suspended over hi3 
door, which had spun a dozen bilious opposite neighbours 
away from their abodes, by its restless gyrations. His friend 
was to provide baits and appliances generally, and the day was 
fixed upon. 



311. 

"When the appointed morning arrived, Mr. Hackle made his 
appearance, so laden with apparatus — rods, and poles, and rakes, 
and landing-nets ; bags, and baskets, and kettles, and a camp- 
stool — that he looked as if he was about to start on a pedestrian 
tour round the world, carrying everything with him. Mr. 
Straggles merely carried his own basket with some sandwiches 
in it, from the " splendid-glass-of-ale" shop; and then being 
told that they were going to a very likely piece of water beyond 
Hampstead, he started with his friend, guided entirely by him ; 
for if Mr. Hackle had proposed dragging for lobsters at Sadler's 
"Wells, or angling for mackerel in Highgate Ponds, Mr. Strag- 
gles had that reliance on his piscatorial experience that he 
would .directly have accompanied him without a misgiving. 

They got up to Hampstead pretty well, and without much 
annoyance. The boys, to be sure, were as vigilant and atten- 
tive as ever, occasionally inquiring of Mr. Hackle, in a friendly 
commercial spirit, "What he would take for his straw hat 
without the lining?" and they also asked, in allusion to his 
spectacles, "Why he didn't light his lamps?" and gazing at 
Mr. Straggles's tall proportions, they recommended him "to 
mind he didn't knock the moon out when he came back again 
at night." But the anglers merely smiled at these sallies, pre- 
tending to be highly amused thereby ; . whereas, internally, such 
was far from being the case. 

It was tolerably hot when they had toiled up the last hill to 
Hampstead Heath, and as they had still some little way farther 
to go, Mr. Hackle proposed they should ride. Mr. Straggles 
directly consented, and without much difficulty they soon 
found some animals. 

There are various localities in the vicinity of London where 
donkeys nourish; they have peculiar districts, like hops and 
sausages. In the suburban ruralities of Primrose Hill many 
fine studs may be met with ; at Blackheath they form a staple 
means of peregrination ; at Gravesend, they delight the poor 
deluded people who fancy they are at the sea-side, and bear 
them to shrimps-and-watercresses-devouring localities. Still 
more distant, at the convivial Margate, they bake in the sun on 
the chalk cliffs above the Port, until they become as tawny as 
the slippers of their riders ; and at Eamsgate, the adjacent bay 
of Pegwell — promising and hunger-implying name — owes much 
of its commercial importance to the means of transport they 
afford. But it is at Hampstead Heath alone that they are to 



312 WILD OATS. 

be seen in all their glory. "What matters it if the saddles br 
old and time-worn? An expanse of calico, bound with gay tape, 
conceals the blemishes and improves the appearance. So have 
we seen the tail-coat, when somewhat seedy as to the lappels, 
converted into the dress garment by a silk facing. If they are 
idly inclined, are there not boys to run behind, and provoke 
activity by a pointed stick ? originating the offensive but 
widely-known comparison between donkeys and lollipops, inas- 
much as the more they were licked the faster they went. Did 
a donkey from Hampstead ever get tired ? — did it ever break 
its knees ? — was it ever blind ? — did it ever run away ? — did it 
ever shuffle off any other coil than the mesh of string, tape, tin, 
jack-chain, and old thongs tbat formed its bridle ? Never. 

The fineness of the morning, the light air, and the holiday 
altogether, coupled with some pale ale at Jack Straw's Castle, 
so elevated Mr. Straggles's spirits, that he sang the " Standard- 
Bearer" louder than ever ; and following Mr. Hackle, held his 
fishing-rod like a lance, and assumed a martial bearing, only in- 
terrupted when his feet dragged against the ground, which, 
from their length, they occasionally did. They crossed the 
Heath, and wound along the pleasant roads beyond it ; and at 
last stopped at a gate, where Mr. Hackle said they were to dis- 
mount, as it must be the one he had been told of by a brother 
angler. They then sent the boys back to the inn, with direc- 
tions to bring them some bottled ale, together with bread and 
cheese, at two o'clock ; and pushing their way through a wet 
copse, the trees of which caught their tackle every minute, 
arrived at the edge of a piece of water. 

" I say," observed Mr. Straggles, " look at that board : * Per- 
sons fishing in this water without permission will be prosecuted 
as the law directs.' "We mustn't try here." 

"Oh! that's nothing," said Mr. Hackle; "a mere form. 
Besides, nobody can see us : we're quite hidden." 

" "Well, I suppose you know best," answered Mr. Straggles, 
with resignation, as he sat down upon the ground. " Here 
goes." 

Mr. Hackle was less precipitate in his movements ; for with 
your anglers it is a great point to elaborate everything as much 
as possible. He performed a great many intricate feats with 
his floats, and caps, and split shot, and plummets ; and spread 
everything out with great display at his side. Then he made 
several small stone dumplings, with a light crust of bran, clay, 



ME. STRAGGLES HAS A DAY'S FISHING. 313 

and gentles, which he distributed, here and there, in the water. 
After this he took all his hooks out of their parchment enve- 
lopes, one after another, and, having looked at them, shut them 
all up again. Then, after plumbing his depth, which he did 
over every square inch within reach of his rod, he found he had 
too many shot, and took some off. Then he had not enough, 
and was obliged to put some on again. Next, his top-joint 
was the wrong one, and all his tackle had to be taken to pieces 
again. But as all this is a great part of the contemplative 
man's recreation, Mr. Hackle was rather entertained than 
otherwise. 

" Why won't my float sail along upright ?" said Mr. Straggles, 
pointing to his porcupine's quill, which was lying horizontally 
upon the water. 

" You're too deep," answered Mr. Hackle. 

" No I'm not," said Mr. Straggles, taking him in a moral 
sense. " I really don't know." 

"Whereupon Mr. Hackle set him right, put on his bait, and 
committed it to the depths of the water ; upon which, Mr. 
Straggles, feeling all comfortable, began to sing : 

" Upon the tented field a minstrel knight 
His lonely midnight standard watch is keeping." 

" Hush!" cried Mr. Hackle; "you mustn't do that." 

" "What !" observed Mr. Straggles, stopping suddenly ; " not 
sing ? Oh, bother ! "What did I come out for ?" 

" To fish," said Mr. Hackle, gravely. 

" "Well, so I do," returned Mr. Straggles. " Hulloo ! here 
he is ! I've got him !" 

And hereat he pulled out a fish with a jerk that sent it 
whirling over his head, and even amongst the willows behind 
him. 

Mr. Hackle here uttered those common sounds of regret 
which are as difficult to spell as the horse-impelling noise which 
the ostler beat his boy for not knowing how to express in letters 
on his return from school. " You should play him," he con- 
tinued, " and draw him out quietly. Ho ! there's a bite. Now, 
you see, I have him. So ho ! it's a roach." 

" How can you tell ?" asked Mr. Straggles. 

" How should I, but by my eyes. Can't you ?" 

" Deuce a bit. I've got a fishing-book, with pictures, but 
they're all alike. Pull him up." 



314 WILD OATS. 

" No, no — steady," said Mr. Hackle ; for this was evidently 
the great pleasure. " See* how he fights ! Now I have him." 

" No you don't," cried Mr. Straggles, as the fish suddenly 
vanished, shooting off into deep water. " There, now, which 
is the best way ?" 

Mr. Hackle was so angry at the failure, that he only replied, 
"- It was all the noise Mr. Straggles was making." 

""Well, never mind," replied the other; "be convivial. 
There's as good fish in the water, I dare say, as ever came out 
of it. Hurrah ! here's another ! Why, what the devil is it — a 
red herring?" 

He pulled up the glittering, wriggling fish as he spoke, and 
showed it to Mr. Hackle. It was a gold-fish ; and almost at 
the same instant Mr. Hackle caught another. 

" This is very strange !" he said. 

" But famous, isn't it ?" observed Mr. Straggles. " Put 'em 
in the kettle. I've got an old globe at home, and I'll keep 
them in it. This is fishing with a vengeance !" 

" It's not sport," remarked Mr. Hackle, throwing back the 
prize. 

" Oh, isn't it, though ? "What do you do that for ?" said his 
friend. 

" Now, pray keep quiet," exclaimed Mr. Hackle. 

" Yery well ; I will, then. Let's see who catches the next. 
Give them some more bait. That's the thing." 

And Mr. Straggles commenced throwing in the dumplings 
so recklessly, that he was obliged to be severely checked. But 
they went on fishing with varied success ; now catching bleak, 
now the gold-fish again, and now piebald ones, until the time 
arrived for luncheon. 

" I wonder where the donkey-boys are," said Mr. Hackle, 
looking at his watch. " They ought to be here." 

" I hear them, I think," said Mr. Straggles, " coming through 
the trees. Yes — it must be them. Hulloo-o-o !" 

" Ullo-o-o-w !" cried the boys, in return. 

" All right," said Mr. Straggles ; and he turned to receive 
them, when the trees were put on one side, and two men in 
velveteen jackets and gaiters made their appearance. 

" So, we've got you at last, have we ?" said one of them. 
" Now I suppose we shall find how master's gold fish got into 
Covent-garden. Out with the handcuffs, Bill, and cripple him 
first." 



ME. STRAGGLES HAS A DAY'S FISHING. 315 

The man pointed to Mr. Hackle, who, from his display of 
apparatus, they took to be the ringleader, and they advanced 
to take him, having been put up to the capture by the donkey- 
boys, whom they had met at the gate, bringing the ale, which 
they immediately appropriated. As they advanced towards 
Mr. Hackle, all the better feelings of Mr. Straggles deserted 
him. He ought to have stood by his friend and seen him 
through it ; but his terror was so great, picturing Newgate, 
Norfolk Island, and even the scaffold, all at once, that he lost 
all feelings but that of self-preservation. Committing his rod 
and basket to the water, he darted into the copse, and the next 
moment was wildly fighting his way through the wet trees and 
underwood, and trying his strength against that of long black- 
berry brambles, which, [if they did not lie on the ground and 
coil about his ankles, hung in festoons at the level of his face, 
and behaved accordingly. He was afraid to look back ; but he 
soon perceived, from the noises behind, that he was pursued, 
and he redoubled his energy. He went over banks like a bird, 
stumbled into ditches, recovered his legs, and bolted through 
fences and brushwood clumps, as if he had been a hunted hare; 
until at last he came to a wall, stretching to the right and left 
so far away that he could see no end to it. His pursuer was 
close upon his heels. [Fortunately a hurdle was leaning against 
the wall, forming a rude sort of ladder, up which he hurriedly 
scrambled, and got to the top just as the fellow came up and 
tried to clutch his ankle. He had a vague bird's-eye view of a 
house and pleasure-grounds below him ; but without pausing 
an instant to look where he was going, he leaped wildly away 
from the grasp of his follower. There was a loud smashing 
sound of glass, and the following instant Mr. Straggles found 
himself on the floor of a hot-house, having broken through the 
roof, and borne down the vine beneath his weight, which, 
whilst it broke his fall, now formed the bed of crushed bunches 
of grapes upon which he was lying. He was directly seized by 
the men about, including the one that had pursued him. The 
proprietor of the grounds, who was also a magistrate, was from 
home at the time ; but the round-house was close at hand, and 
to that dreary dungeon Mr. Straggles was immediately con- 
signed, with the intimation that he would not be long without 
company, as his accomplice would soon join him. And then 
they closed the double doors upon him, and left him to his mi- 
serable reflections. 

# # # # # 



316 WILD OATS. 

He, however, procured his liberty, and was indebted to 
the Gentleman's Magazine for the manner in which this 
was effected, for Mr. Hackle and the magistrate had long known 
one another as fellow-contributors. They had each sent 
sketches of extinct fonts and unintelligible inscriptions, and 
enormous rusty keys, the locks whereof had long been missing, 
to that light periodical ; and when the latter returned — which 
was just as Mr. Hackle was about to be locked up with his 
friend — he immediately ordered them to be set at liberty, and 
even prevailed upon them to dine with him. It appeared that 
a grotto and fountain in his garden communicated with the 
water in which they had been fishing, but that the depredations 
constantly committed had got to such a pitch, that he had set 
his servants to watch and apprehend all invaders. 

And so the affair ended in a laugh, and the gentleman in- 
sisted upon Mr, Straggles keeping all the fish he had caught. 
But they never proved a source of much pleasure to him : he 
could not regard them without shuddering at his past scrape. 
And as for fishing itself, he so far hated the very name, that 
had it been possible for him to have bought up every copy of 
" The Complete Angler," he would willingly have expended his 
last farthing in so doing, rather than another disciple should be 
gained to what he termed " the slowest twaddling any rational 
man could believe he found amusement in." 



( 317 ) 
XL. 

A LETTER FROM AN OLD COUNTRY-HOLSE. 

Dear Arthur, 

'Tis so very slow, 

I can't tell what to do, 
And so I've got a pen and ink, 

And mean to write to yon ! 
Ton know how intervening space 

I reckon' d bit by bit, 
Until this time arrived : and now 

It has not proved a hit ! 

'Tis very well. The house is old, 

With an enormous hall ; 
I think what learned architects 

Elizabethan call.. 
"With mullion'd windows, shutters vast 

And mystic double floors, 
And hollow wainscots, creaking stairs, 

And four-horse power doors. 

And authors who could write a book 

Might subjects find in hosts, 
Of civil wars, and wrongful heirs, 

And murders, bones, and ghosts. 
And this you know's all very well 

'Neath a bright noontide sun ; 
But when the dismal nightfall comes, 

'Tis anything but fan. 

I'll own — but this is entre nous — 

I was in such a fright 
At my gaunt bedroom, that my eyes 

I never closed all night 
"When first I lay there : for each thing 

Associations brought 
Of bygone crimes, and mouldy deeds, 

"With frightful interest fraught. 



318 WILD OATS. 

'Twas like the room where Tennyson 

Made Mariana stay — 
A chamber odorous with time, 

And damp and chill decay. 
The moon looked in with ghastly stare 

On those who haply slept, 
And 'gainst the casement all night long 

Some cypress branches swept. 

And tapestry was on the walls — 

Dull work that did' engage 
Pair fingers, fleshless loDg ago — 

Now dim and black with age. 
And when I trod upon the floor, 

It groaned, and wheezed, and creak' d, 
And made such awful noises that 

One's very temples reek'd. 

And in the middle of the night, 

Half dozing in my bed, 
Although beneath the counterpane 

I buried deep my head, 
I saw most ghastly phantom forms 

Of mildew'd men and girls, 
"With axe-lopp'd heads, and steel-pierced breasts 

And long gore-dabbled curls. 

I was so glad when morning came, 

For then all fear was o'er : 
I slept 'till Fox had three times changed 

The water at my door. 
And when I reach' d the breakfast-room 

The eggs and game were gone, 
And I was tied to marmalade 

And haddock all alone. 

Now nothing can make up for this, ' 
Nor horse, nor game, nor gun ; 

Nor yet charades, night after night, 
Until they lose their fun ; 



A LETTEE FKOM AN OLD COUNTRY-HOUSE. 319 

JSTor Emily's contralto voice, 

And dark and floating eyes ; 
Nor that young countess — belle de nuit ! 

JNor Julia's smart replies. 

I long to be in town again, 

For all the world recals 
The raptures of a private box, 

Or comfort of the stalls ; 
Those cozy dinners at the club ; 

Those rich regalia fumes ; 
A whirl at Weippert's ; or, perchance, 

A supper at our rooms. 

So tell the boys I'm coming back, 

No more this year to roam 
(Don't send the birds to Collingwood ; 

He never dines at home). 
The second dinner-bell has rung, 

I'll finish, then, forthwith, 
And so, 

Believe me to remain, 
Tours always, 

Ajubeet Smith. 

• Court, October 20, 1847 



( 320 ) 



XLL 

MR. STRAGGLES IS PREVAILED UPON TO GO A SHOOTING. 

Theee are certain things the appearance of which on the 
stage of a theatre during the performance of a pantomime en- 
sures their doom, either to total destruction, insult, or treat- 
ment of the worst description. As examples, we may mention 
sedan-chairs, frying-pans, bandboxes, and old ladies ; for the 
first, we know, will be broken in at its top by the reckless 
attempts of the clown to obtain a seat to which he had no 
right ; the second will have its bottom knocked out in forming 
a species of pillory necklace for the maltreated pantaloon ; the 
next will be crushed and comminuted to atoms in that ill- 
organised outburst of popular fury, in which, at the same time, 
fish and images always come off so poorly ; and the last — the 
defenceless old lady — will have to undergo such a series of 
frights, ill usage, and even violence, in comparison with her 
years, that the extent of suffering which female heroism can 
support under certain circumstances is really marvellous to 
contemplate. 

Just as these things are upon the mimic stage, so was Mr. 
Straggles upon the theatre of real life. With every good in- 
tention and caution in the world, he was constantly in trouble. 
"Whether acting for himself, or striving to stand in the shoe of 
another, he always, so to speak, put his foot in it. He was the 
sedan-chair that only led to the injury of the person he tried to 
succour ; he was the frying-pan that was sure, somehow or 
another, to hamper those he associated with ; he was, in a row, 
the human bandbox that always came off worst ; and it is a 
question if the clown ever felt so wickedly towards the old 
ladies as did the impudent boys in the street whenever he ap- 
peared. And so, with his constant dilemmas, it is a wonder he 
ever engaged in any expedition at all. Buu his nature was so 
inclined to festivity and relaxation, that his perpetual scrapes 
had little effect upon him ; indeed, he was always ready for 



ME. STEAGGLES PEEYAILED UPON TO GO A SHOOTING. 321 

anything in the way of an excursion at the slightest hint, a want 
of funds being his only stumbling-block. 

It was a very slow time in town. The leaves had fallen at 
Vauxhall ; and such people as were left living on one side of the 
squares began to see those on the other, once more, through 
the withering foliage. Nearly all the theatres were shut, so 
there was nowhere to go at night ; and it was too chilly and 
dreary to sit at home, and not cold enough to have a fire. 
People fought against coals and candles as long as they could, 
apparently in the belief that they could drive winter back by 
thus opposing his firmest allies ; but the water was cold on the 
washhand-standinthe morning, and the toilet was more hurried 
than ordinary ; and those who still would not demean them- 
selves by yielding to another blanket, were glad to throw their 
dressing-gown upon the bed. The paletot of last spring was 
pulled from its closet to see what it looked like ; forgotten 
trousers of once loved winter check were hunted out from the 
depths of wardrobes ; and collections of stout boots, discarded 
for the gaiety of the summer sunlit pavements, once more came 
into favour, as they were passed in review with respect to 
their capabilities of new soling. Dingy muslin curtains, that 
it was not worth while washing, gave place to newly dyed 
moreen ; and you began your dinner in daylight, went on with 
it in neutral gloom, and finished it with candles, which, as soon 
as lighted, made the black fireplace doubly gloomy, in spite of 
the dismal little soot-peppered ornaments of snipped silver 
paper that hung from its bars. Mr. Straggles sat at dayfall, at 
this season, in his chambers, thinking what to do. Inclination 
said, " Go and have a mild cigar and opera at the Eagle;" pru- 
dence suggested it were better to stay at home and work. But 
everything looked so cheerless in the cold twilight, that he was 
about to rush out to avoid all chance of autumnal suicide, when 
lie heard the wheels of a cart stop in front of his house, and 
two minutes after the porter brought him up three partridges 
with a note tied round their necks. Having spent the usual 
time in wondering who could have sent them, he broke the seal, 
which bore the impression of a percussion- cap several times 
applied, and read as follows : 

" Dear old Straggs, — Herewith you will receive a leash of 
birds — not " three partridges," as I know you will already have 
called them. And now to business. Where these came from 



WILD OATS. 

there's more than you can have a notion of; the poultry shop at 
the bottom of Holborn-hill, if it was to rise and fly away, wouldn't 
give you an idea of our coveys. So the governor hopes you'll 
come down and have a shy at them, in return for your kindness 
in seeing about his commissions in London. "We can find you 
a gun, but you must bring everything else. The Brighton 
Railway's the nearest line, and get down at Hayward's Heath. 
So, mind you come, and 

" Good afternoon. 

" Yours no end, 

" Joe. 

" Bramblesly, Oct." 

The birds and the note put Mr. Straggles to much perplexity. 
Por, in the first place, you cannot send a more distressing 
present to a man in chambers, who dines out, than a leash of 
birds. He does not know what in the world to do with them. 
The first day he hangs them up to look at, and hopes that 
somebody will call to see them, and believe in his connexions. 
On the second he begins to think whom he shall present them 
to, and the inquiry puzzles him until the third, when he 
wavers between six friends of equal claims upon his attention. 
Arguing the case occupies two days more, until at last they 
get very high ; and not having any servant to send on the in- 
stant with them, and mistrusting other methods, he gives them 
to his laundress, who sells them to the poulterer, and where 
they go to after that the dealer only knows. 

This was one cause of distress to Mr. Straggles; the other 
was, that his experience in shooting was limited. He knew 
that, to let off a gun, you put a percussion-cap on a little knob, 
and pulled a thing underneath ; and then if you had previously 
rammed some powder down the barrel with a bit of paper, it 
made a bang and kicked against the shoulder ; but to this was 
his knowledge confined. As to taking an aim at anything, he 
might as well have attempted to shoot the moon, at which, in 
its commonly received sense, he might have succeeded ; so he 
made up his mind to go to a shooting-gallery, thinking that 
after a dozen shots at three-halfpence each, he should be ready 
for anything. So have we known landsmen about to take a 
voyage, go off quite contented with a sixpenny handbook on 
swimming. 

There is in Leicester-square a remarkable establishment, 



ME. STEAGGLES PEEVAILED UPON TO GO A SHOOTING. 323 

appropriated to many purposes in its different compartments. 
It was once the repository of Miss Linwood's needlework, a 
popular exhibition, which, however, we never saw ourselves — 
nor, remarkably enough, did we ever know anybody who, being 
driven to the point, could say he had either — but which is 
believed to have been immensely popular with well-regulated 
country families visiting London once a year as a compulsory 
pleasure. At that time a little Turk upon horseback used to 
trot across three panes of glass in one of the windows every 
half minute, to the delight of the passengers, especially the 
boys, who always enter keenly into everything exhibited for 
nothing. But when the needlework went, the Turk went with 
it ; and then the establishment became so divided by different 
interests, that few could tell whether it was a theatre, a wine- 
vaults, a billiard-room, a coffee-shop, a gunsmith's, or a Royal 
Academy; or if they could, they never knew, amidst the 
ascending and descending steps, and doors, and passages, which 
one to take to get anywhere. The Egyptian Hall is as 
mystic in this respect as is the interior of the Pyramids. 
Nobody ever went to see Tom Thumb without finding himself 
amongst the Ojibbeways by a wrong door ; and the visitor to the 
Model of Yenice, having been so confused as to pay separately 
for the Speaking Machine, or the Fat or Mysterious Lady, 
ultimately never got there at all. But the Piccadilly labyrinth 
is nothing to the one in Leicester-square. A confusion of 
sounds tends further to bewilder the visitor ; the noise of 
everything is heard everywhere else. The click of billiard- 
balls ; the music of poses plastiques ; the thwacking of single- 
sticks ; the cracldng of rifles, and the stamping of delighted 
"Walhalla-ists, all mingle with each other; and it is only by 
taking refuge in the lowest apartment, which partakes of a 
coffee-room, a cabin, and a cellar, that you find repose. But 
Mr. Straggles had been told there was a good gallery here, and 
with some trouble he at last found his way to it. 

It was a large room divided down the middle ; one half being 
taken up with swings, ropes, bars, ladders, and various con- 
trivances for performing fearful feats of strength with ; and the 
other was appropriated to shooting against an iron target at 
the end. A gentleman in shirt-sleeves, whose life was passed in 
loading fire-arms, received Mr. Straggles as he entered. 

" I want to shoot," observed Mr. Straggles, with assumed 
indifference. 

12 



324 WILD OATS. 



" Yes, sir. Rifle, sir ?" said the assistant. 



" Yes, a rifle," replied Mr. Straggles, unconcernedly. He 
supposed it was all right, having some vague notions of rifles, 
and game, and Hurons, and dead shots, from Mr. Cooper's 
novels. But he would have answered the same had the man 
suggested a musket or a blunderbuss. 

" Stop a minute, sir," said the man, as he painted the target 
with whitewash. " Now it's ready." 

Mr. Straggles took the gun and aimed at the target in the 
most approved style. He was one of those gentlemen who con- 
stantly take aim with their walking-sticks at different objects, 
to impress bystanders with a belief in their sporting propen- 
sities. 

" You haven't cocked it," said the man. 

" Oh !" replied Mr. Straggles, " to be sure ; that's it. JSTow 
then." 

As the sight of the gun described various flourishes about 
the bull's eye, Mr. Straggles pulled the trigger, and a black 
mark appeared on the extreme verge of the target. 

" That's not so bad, is it ?" asked Mr. Straggles. 

" Very good shot, sir," said the man. 

" And all the shot are together, ain't they ?" 

" Beg your pardon, sir ?" 

" I mean, all the shot went out of the barrel in a heap." 

"JSTo, sir/' said the man, smiling. "Rifle, sir, 's loaded with 
ball." 

" Oh, to be sure it is ! What a fool I am!" returned Straggles. 

" Yes, sir," said the man. 

Mr. Straggles fired away his eighteen-penny worth with vary- 
ing success, and was then recommended to try and hit the 
swinging bird, which hung from a string before the target. 
But this he could by no means accomplish, and the bullets 
went into the floor, and ceiling, and wall, and everywhere, in 
fact, but near the wooden pigeon. 

" It's very difficult," he said. " I think it must be because I 
shut my eyes, to keep the cap from flying into them, when I 
pull the trigger." 

" Very likely, sir," said the man. " Gentlemen are often] 
taken so wben they're not used to it." 

" Oh ! I'm used to it enough," said Mr. Straggles, quite in-| 
dignant; "but I'm nervous. I never could bear anythinj 
swinging before my eyes. That hit him, though !" 



MR. STRAGGLES PREVAILED UPON TO GO A SHOOTING. 325 

By chance it did. By the common laws of motion the bullet 
was compelled to go somewhere, and that time it went against; 
the bird. The man complimented Mr. Straggles ; and he was 
so pleased with his skill, that he wrote to Joe Tollit the next 
morning, accepting his invitation ; and giving up cigars for the 
time, spent all his money in shots until the day arrived. 

In one of the streets between the squares of Soho and Lei- 
cester, Mr. Straggles found out a valuable shop, which exists 
still, for we passed it the other day. It was particularly calcu- 
lated to attract incipient sportsmen, for the window was filled 
with every implement for the field, set forth in the most allur- 
ing manner. There were guns, air-canes, and pistols ; flasks, 
cartridges, and cap-holders; together with packets of gun- 
powder, and in a corner such piles of catherine-wheels and 
crackers, that had the house taken fire, there is no knowing 
where the neighbours would have been blown to. And to ex- 
cite timid sportsmen there were labels such as these : " Look ! 
twisted barrels, patent breech, and back action — and all for 
4il. 10s. !" or, " The real pheasant astonisher, only thirty shil- 
lings !" And to an air-gun was affixed, " Fancy stunning down 
a bird with this, and no keeper the wiser — three guineas !" 
"Whilst a brace of pistols was labelled, " Men of England ! havo 
you your wives' or sisters' honour at heart ? Buy these for 
two pound!" Mr. Straggles was overcome by the friendly 
nature of these communications, and he bought several accou- 
trements, including a packet of cartridges, one of which amused 
him all night in dissecting, and wondering what its contents of 
shot, sand, and little network wire cage could be meant for. 
And when he considered that his arrangements were perfect, 
he put himself into the third class of a slow train, and got out 
at the nearest station to Bramblesly that evening. The even- 
ing passed in chat with his friends, and about half-past ten — a 
wholesome country hour — he retired to bed, all ready for his 
first appearance, as a sort of Young Hawthorn, on the morrow. 
With the first beams of the rising sun, Joe Tollit was at his 
bedroom door ; and as soon as Mr. Straggles was dressed, he 
set him to punch an old hat into small discs for wadding, which 
occupied him until breakfast. During this meal, Joe was con- 
stantly clicking the guns, to see that they were all right, to the 
great terror of Mr. Straggles, as the barrels were generally 
pointed to his head. They were not loaded, to be sure. Of 
that he was aware : but empty guns occasionally did such won- 



326 WILD OATS. 

derful things, that he was very glad when the direction was 
altered. And at last, after breakfast, they went and let the 
dogs loose, and started for their day ; Mr. Straggles being ac- 
commodated with a double-barrelled gun, which he had as much 
notion of handling as if it had been a cornet-a-piston, and, 
knowing this, he turned it off, saying, " Ah ! if that had been 
a rifle I could have shown you something." 

It was not all fun at first. They had to walk over ploughed 
fields, and into swamps, and through dreadful hedges, composed 
entirely of blackberries, holly, and stinging-nettles. And Mr. 
Straggles did not understand the dogs as he ought to have 
done. He had formed his notions of their attitudes from a tin 
pointer on a chimney-pot behind his chambers ; and not seeing 
them copy this exactly, he occasionally gave them a kick on, 
when they stopped, thinking they were pointing at rubbish ; 
and then he was rebuked by Joe. For take it as a rule, that 
in certain sports, as well as at whist, your dearest friend will 
insult you, and you have no appeal. Now and then some birds 
rose, and went whir-r-r-ring off, one of whom Joe generally 
brought down; but if he didn't, Mr. Straggles was so long 
taking his aim to make sure, that they got away comfortably, 
before he fired, into foreign covers, and felt small. But he was 
still self-confident outwardly, and always said, " Ah ! they'd 
better not come in my way again I" 

They did not, however, come to the countless flocks of birds 
Joe had spoken of, although the man with them beat the 
bushes into splinters. Indeed, it seems an immutable fact in 
all sporting invitations, that hopes held forth are seldom 
realised, For if a man tells you as an inducement that some- 
body caught twelve dozen gudgeon at a particular pitch the 
day before, be sure you will never get a bite. Rabbits vanish 
underground, like barbel worms before a lantern, at the approach 
of a visitor ; no one who had expressly asked a friend to course 
ever found a hare ; and we should mistrust that day's subsist- 
ence which depended upon all the birds brought down on 
estates where they were said to be as thick as flies in a sugar- 
tub. 

After going on for some time without a chance, during which 
Mr. Straggles longed to shoot at the small birds, but was not 
allowed, Joe came to the conclusion that they had been fright- 
ened into other covers. 



ME. STRAGGLES PREVAILED UPON TO GO A SHOOTING. 327 

" There's a shaw over there," he said, as they at last halted 
to take some refreshment, " which I know swarms with them." 

"Ah!" gasped Mr. Straggles, as he put down a little tub, 
from the cork-hole of which he had been taking a long pull of 
ale. " Well, let's go there." 

" But you see it's not the governor's land ; it belongs to 
Worty, the brewer." 

" Well, then, let's stop here, it's very jolly. Have you heard 
1 The Standard-Bearer ?'" 

Joe would not say he had not, because he foresaw Mr. 
Straggles would offer to sing it, and then the day would end in 
conviviality. So he said he knew it well, and so nipped the 
symphony in the bud, which his friend was beginning to hum ; 
and then he added, " Our lands join, to be sure ; so if we skirt 
the copse, we may do something. Come on." 

They started off again, but with no greater success; still 
they kept hearing shots around them, which proved there must 
be some birds somewhere, until Joe got desperate, and, cross- 
ing the boundary, plunged into the adjoining property, telling 
Straggles to follow him, as well as he could, through the 
tangled brake. 

" I say, Joe!" said Mr. Straggles, suddenly, from the centre 
of a nut-bush. 

" Well, what is it ?" asked his friend, who was down in a 
quarry. 

" I see a pheasant ; shall I shoot him ?" 

" Of course ; but put him up first." 

" JSTo, I can hit him better as he sits. Here goes." 

Mr. Straggles took his aim, and pulled the trigger. Bang- 
bang ! went both barrels in rapid sequence ; and the echoes 
carried out the sound into a prolonged rumble like thunder 
round the corner of the world. 

« Why— I say, Joe— I'm d ." 

We break off; there is no occasion to state what Mr. Strag- 
gles said he was. 

" Well, what's the matter ?" inquired his friend. 

* Why, he's sitting there just the same as ever ; not even 
frightened." 

Joe climbed up the side of the old quarry as his friend spoke, 
and looked in the direction of the furzes. 

" Why, Straggs,"he said, "that's a wooden dummy, put up 



328 WILD OATS. 

there to trap the poachers. 'What a pity to have wasted your 
powder and shot upon it.*' 

u Xever mind," replied Mr. Straggles : " ' on we goes again,' 
as they say" — he was getting ahead with the effects of the 
ale — u I'll punish 'em yet." 

" Hush !" said Joe ; " I thought I heard voices." 

" No," said Mr. Strangles ; " echoes, Joe, nothing more. 
Lisren!" 

And hereupon he imitated a cornet-a-piston with the air of 
"The Standard-Bearer," and waited for the echo. But there 
was none. 

•• Ah ! that's nothing," he said : "some echoes only repeat 
voices, not notes. There !" he continued, as he gave the finish- 
ins: ram down to his charges. "'I should think that would 
doit" 

" I'd rather keep away from you," said Mr. Tollit, "if you've 
no objection." 

u Sot at all." observed Straggles. " I'd rather ; then, if I hit 
a bird, we shall be sure about who's done it." 

The pair accordingly separated. They forced their way 
through the copse, and were now upon a ridge of furze field 
that sloped down towards another shaw similar to the one they 
had just left. Mr. Straggles was first, and was pushing vigo- 
rously on, when a pheasant rose from the lea below them, and 
the same instant a voice exclaimed, " Mark !" 

u G-o on!" cried Joe, earnestly. " Here, Juno! Bover! come 
here! Straggs, do you hear? go on! go on!" 

" I'm a going," said Mr. Straggles, misunderstanding him ; 
and again, bang-bang ! went both his barrels, and the bird fell. 

Elated with his success, he rushed towards where he con- 
ceived it would be found. He bounded over the fern like a 
fawn — pushed through the furze as if his legs had been adamant, 
and rushed through the saplings like a thunderbolt, until he 
came to the clump of nut-trees into which the bird had fallen. 
As he drove through it, a gentleman and two keepers received 
him. 

" Oh ! that is it, is it r" said the gentleman. " And pray, 
sir, who are you r" 

Mr. Straggles was so frightened that he could scarcely speak. 
He had read of affrays with poachers, in the newspapers, and 
imagined that he was to be shot forthwith. 



ME. STRAGGLES PKEVAILED UPON TO GO A SHOOTING. 329 

•• Where's your license, sir ?" continued the gentleman. 

A flash of hope illumined Mr. Straggles's mind. He called 
to memory a legend he had heard, that nobody could ask for a 
license without showing his own ; so he gasped forth : 

•• Show me yours first." 

The gentleman directly complied ; and took from his pocket 
a flimsy piece of paper, printed upon with green ink. acknow- 
ledging the receipt of four pounds and tenpence from the 
owner. 

•• Ana now. sir, let me see yours," he continued. 

Poor Mr. Straggles ! He might as well have asked for a 
thousand-pound bank-note. Anything like a license could not 
be found ; and although he called Joe as loud as he could, and 
explained that he was a friend of a neighbour, the gentleman 
would not believe him, but told his keepers to take him into 
ly : and between them both Mr. Straggles was walked 
off from the copse, and, for lack of a round-house, deposited 
as a poacher in a high-walled-in coal-yard of the gentleman's 
house. 

And so passed the first day of Mr. Straggles's shooting ex- 
pedition. "WTiat adventures his subsequent day with the har- 
riers gave rise to, the following chapter will show. 



( 330 ) 



XLII. 

MR. STRAGGLES HAS A DAY WITH THE HARRIERS, AND 
RENOUNCES SPORTING LIFE. 

The residence of Mr. Tollit, to which Mr. Straggles returned 
with great joy after his respectability had been ascertained, and 
he had been released from the coal-hole by the gentleman who 
had seized him as a poacher, was an old country farm-house. 
The parlour was kept, like the bright poker in the grate, more 
for show than use, as generally the family resided in the large 
kitchen ; and the front door had as idle a time of it as the great 
one of St. Paul's that faces Ludgate-hill, which appears only to 
have been made to be kept shut. On high holidays both were 
thrown open, but these came but seldom ; and the usual ingress 
to the house was through the back door from the farm-yard. 
Mr. Tollit and his son were regarded by Mr. Straggles in the 
light of that class of relationship, now in its decadence, known 
as country cousins. "We say in its decadence, since it has been 
ordained that everything in the world should become extinct 
after a certain time, whether animated or inorganic. In the 
remains of the vestiges of creation which frighten the holiday 
people at the British Museum, we find the ichthyosaurus, the 
ammonite, the mammoth, and a vast crowd of monsters terrible 
to behold, upon the total disappearance of which we have every 
reason to congratulate ourselves. In later times, amongst 
things which were, but are believed in no longer, are execu- 
tions, high art, five-act plays, stage coachmen, great actors, and 
Dutch weather houses. Young ladies declare that offers are 
getting every day more scarce ; so are old English gentlemen, 
prize-fights, and fair horse-races ; and country cousins are now 
passing away as well. 

"When Mr. Straggles first recollected his old world friends 
the Tollits, things were difierently constituted. They had al- 
ways lived at Bramblesly, but then the journey was an under- 
taking. An anomalous gig, something between a private cab 



ME. STRAGGLES HAS A DAY "WITH THE HARRIERS. 33L 

and a dog-cart, had to start at some irregular hour, elaborate 
to remember, and meet the coach in the dim morning twilight, 
traversing a route that was along a track of ruts crossing a 
common, on either side of which the fog hung heavily upon the 
gossamers that sway in grey lestoons from heath to furze bush. 
There were various motives, too, for this journey. It might be 
love, or law, or physic ; it might be an ambition to talk of town 
and seize the fashions ; sometimes it oscillated between polite- 
ness and dividends. But travelling was then a matter of toil 
and importance, and a real motive was always put forward by 
the Tollits as an excuse for their visit. They never came to 
town upon a mere whim. 

It then happened that Mr. Straggles used to take beds for 
them at an hotel. Their common resort, with many others of 
the same class, was the Sussex Hotel, an establishment bounded 
on the west by Bouverie-street, Fleet-street, and on the east 
by the Bolt-in-Tun coach- office. There were inns much nearer 
to Mr. Straggles' s chambers, but the Tollits always went there, 
because the coach that came from their part of the world went 
there too. The distance between them was that uncomfortable 
one which would have been an eighteenpenny fare if it could, 
but it couldn't ; and so the journey was always enlivened by 
an argument with the coachman — cabs were not patronised 
then— who invariably got the best of it, until the Tollits bought 
a little Book of Pares, which they carried about with them in 
preference to their watches, and which was distinguished in 
always having the fares between all places but those which they 
wanted. 

The Bolt-in-Tun is much changed now ; quiet country gen- 
tlemen, who knew it when they were obliged to sleep in town, 
but never do so now in consequence of the quick transit, would 
hardly recognise it. Then there were galleries running round 
it which made strangers imagine they were going to bed out of 
doors ; and at certain hours of the day the visitors would 
appear from the sleeping-rooms that looked down into the yard, 
awaiting the arrival of the stage-coach to learn the local news. 
And there were plenty of coaches then in the yard of the Bolt- 
in-Tun — heavy, florid vehicles, like so many apoplectic ele- 
phants, snoozing under the sheds until the ostlers dragged 
them forth to be washed and dressed. All night long they 
rattled in and out, teaching country folks by the noise that 



332 WILD OATS. 

they were in London ; and in the intervals of their clatter, 
restless horses stamped and snorted, and shook their harness 
in adjacent stables, at which they arrived by going up and down 
inclined planes, like the approaches to the steam-boat piers, or 
the platform of Astley's, along which the " Untamed Horse of 
the Tartar horde of Circassia" bears the rightful prince from 
his enemies, or brings him to succour female innocence, just in 
the nick of time. But now the coaches have all gone — no one 
can tell for a certainty where to — the rickety, fore-shortened 
railway omnibus that shuffles up to the door of the booking- 
office, and is generally off again before any one knows that it 
has arrived,- but ill makes up for the deficiency. 

In those old times Mr. Straggles was proud to go about town 
with the Tollits, since, whatever was the exciting cause of the 
visit, it always had the same results — seeing sights and spend- 
ing money — and he used to feel that he was, as it were, their 
Mentor. They began to buy things immediately on their 
arrival. The Jews who haunted the front of the Elephant 
and Castle found amongst them the readiest customers for 
their wares, from the Annual with the worn-out plates, to the 
pewter pencil-case with the flawed glass seal at the top. And 
there appeared to be resorts especially appropriated to them, 
which Mr. Straggles seemed to know little about, although he 
would not confess it. Exeter-change and Miss Linwood's were 
in high favour. Cranbourne-alley was alone thought trust- 
worthy with respect to bonnets, and the corner of St. Paul's 
as regarded books. Alack ! Exeter-change is changed altoge- 
ther; its cutlery has cut itself, and its beasts have become 
denizens of another district ; they have avoided the desert of 
the modern Exeter Arcadia. Miss Linwood is no more, and 
her cause has yielded to that of more distressed needlewomen ; 
the fast, shuffling quietude of Cranbourne-alley no longer 
exists, and the female touters at the doors of the shops appear 
to shrink from the bustle of the new thoroughfare. The 
" Scenes in Europe" have retired from St. Paul's Churchyard 
before Mr. Grant's work of high-pressure, forty-Peter Parley 
power ; and the spirit of philosophy has been diluted into negus 
to suit juvenile palates. 

We laugh at a yokel in London, but a Cockney in the country 
is a far more contemptible person, and this Mr. Straggles began 
to feel. Eor the changes pervading everything did not allow 



MR. STRAGGLES HAS A DAY WITH THE HARRIERS. 333 

him to assume that mental superiority over the Tollits which 
he once did. Formerly they were delighted to go everywhere, 
and see anything : all the singers at the Opera were equally 
unknown to them, and sometimes they proffered a quiet pe- 
tition for a playbill. But what the newspapers called " faci- 
lity of communication" had made them almost as sharp as Mr. 
Straggles conceived himself to be. Illustrated newspapers, ra- 
pidly brought down to their home, gave them an idea of the 
theatres, exhibitions, fashions, and lions, as soon as himself — 
nay, sooner — for it is proverbial that those living in town are 
the last to see anything in it. Periodicals of every kind — 
funny ones with cuts, and sober ones without — put them up to 
that horological knowledge popularly known as " the time of 
day ;" and London lecturers, whisked down to their literary in- 
stitutions, left no fresh points of scientific discovery a novelty. 
In fact, a visit to town had almost become a " little go," to 
which the Tollits came up as knowing as Mr. Straggles himself: 
in fact, more so, being as perfectly crammed in one way as col- 
legians in another. So he was much puzzled how to keep up 
his character. He found they knew everything, from Jenny 
Lind to gutta-percha ; but he was innately deficient in sporting 
and agricultural matters, and therefore he determined to as- 
sume a knowledge of everything as far as he was able. 

" Straggs," observed Mr. Tollit, junior, as they sat in the 
kitchen before the huge fire, at which two fowls were roasting 
before the wood embers, to the great astonishment of the 
gentleman addressed — " Straggs, what are you like outside a 
horse?" 

It was a home question. "With less uneasiness the member 
of a respectable pious country family might have been asked, 
"what was his opinion of Carlotta Grisi compared with 
Ellsler." So Mr. Straggles, after a moment's incertitude, re- 
plied : 

"Oh— all right!" 

"I'm glad of that," said Joe, "because Jack Easper's har- 
riers are coming over here to-morrow, and we are going to 
mount you, just by way of a change. The governor said he 
was sure you'd take a fence." 

"Take offence!" observed Mr. Straggles; "what at?" 

''At?" replied Joe; "anything: a double ditch, with a 
quickset in the middle— an ox-rail — a row of hurdles — or a light 



334 WILD OATS. 

park paling. "We'll put you on something that will take you 
over them if you can stick on." 

Stick on ! It had a terrible sound. It spoke of that im- 
pressive sort of horsemanship, that clinging ride of terror and 
incertitude which characterised the equestrianism of a monkey. 
And yet Mr. Straggles did not like to confess his feeble- 
mindedness on this point to his " country cousins." He found 
that they could criticise Alboni and speak of the Nassau bal- 
loon as readily as he could himself, and therefore, determined 
not to appear behind them, he accepted the proffered steed. 

Not without many misgivings, though ; for bis practice in 
riding had hitherto been very limited. He had, it is true, 
gone on donkeys to Pegwell Bay, and the place near Gravesend 
where the watercresses grow ; and he had once ventured into 
the Park upon a hack horse, where he had contrived to keep his 
seat, albeit the many salutations he received from ill-condi- 
tioned boys, on his journey thither, had well-nigh abashed him. 
But he would not confess his fears ; and he thanked Mr. Tollit 
as coolly as though he had been accustomed to take stone walls 
and five-barred gates every day of his life. 

"Old Jack will be just the thing for you," said Joe, " be- 
cause he knows the country. He's rather high actioned, but 
that's a fault on the right side ; because he won't come down 
like your daisy-clippers that shuffle a penny-piece from a 
turnpike road. I don't think you have any top-boots, have 
you ?" 

Mr. Straggles had not — in fact, he might just as well have 
been asked for a pair of epaulettes or a turban from his ward- 
robe. 

" Ah, never mind," said Joe ; " we'll fit you out in proper 
style. You can have those, if you like." 

Mr. Tollit pointed to a pair that were lying up in a corner, 
and were of that kind which John Bull is always accustomed 
to wear, according to popular pictorial authority. They were 
heavy and large, with brown tops and round toes ; and looked 
as if they could have done duty upon emergency for the cele- 
brated seven-league boots of the legend. 

" Why, I could get into them altogether," said Mr. Straggles, 
as he looked, first at them, and then at his own ten-and-six- 
penny Alberts. " If I wore them I could never lift my legs." 
"Oh yes you could," said Joe. "Besides, if they are so 



ME. STRAGGLES HAS A DAY WITH THE HARRIERS. 335 

heavy, what of that ? — they'll steady you, you know, when you're 
once up, with their weight on each side." 

And to prove the truth of this assertion by a model, Mr. 
Tollit stuck two forks in a cork, which he afterwards elevated 
on a pin, and then made the entire apparatus revolve and 
oscillate on the foot of an inverted wine-glass. 

" There, don't you see?" he went on, "you can't knock it 
over ; you're the cork, you know, and the forks are your legs 
and boots. They'll be regular ballast to you ; you'll never get 
lopsided if you wear them." 

The night that Mr. Straggles passed, after the hour of bed- 
time arrived, was indeed a fearful one. Half dozing, he was 
haunted by vivid pictures of all the equestrian mischances that 
had ever occurred. John Gilpin kept flying round his bed, as 
he had seen him pictured, wigless and scared, with the two 
"broken bottles hanging against his hips. The unfortunate Mr. 
Button, whose fearful ride to Brentford was only equalled by 
that of Burger's Leonora in horror, appeared going through 
all those rapid acts of horsemanship that have become matters 
of history, riding now on the neck, and now on the extreme 
verge of the crupper, with his face to the tail, or across the 
horse like a sack, with all the other remarkable positions which 
that devoted tailor was made to assume. Then he called to 
mind the story of the nobleman, who, staying at a friend's 
house, after a day with the hounds, upon being called to go to 
cover the next morning, cried, with an air of haggard mistrust, 
" What ! do people go hunting twice ?" And, lastly, he recol- 
lected an uncomfortable book upon the Epping Hunt,, with 
pictures of dilemmas more perilous than any one man could 
have been supposed to have survived ; as well as a set of 
coloured prints of some great steeple-chase, where, from the 
start to the come in, the view had always been taken just as a 
gentleman rider had been pitched upon his head, or been left 
behind a " double," or plumped into a brook, or gone over al- 
together with his horse, as if upon an invisible centrifugal rail- 
way. And these desperate scenes merging into his sleeping 
visions, kept him starting from his slumbers all night, with the 
impression that he was falliug from the roof of a house, fashioned 
like a saddle on a mighty horse. 

Bright Chanticleer proclaimed the day at last, according to 
his custom on hunting mornings. And Mr. Straggles awoke 



336 WILD OATS. 

from his unrefreshing sleep. Nothing, however, is ever in 
reality so terrible as we fancy it in the dead of night, and the 
sunlight reassured him ; so much so, indeed, that as he was 
dressing, he began to sing " The Standard-Bearer," and from 
this he went into various appropriate melodies connected with 
southerly winds and cloudy skies ; and " harked forward" more 
than once as he was shaving, and said "Tantivy!" But he 
used this latter word in a reckless manner, not exactly knowing 
v what it meant, or at what especial time it ought to be spoken 
— whether it applied to particular positions in the chase, or 
.whether it was an expression of joy which might be indulged 
in at any period, as Scotch gentlemen are wont to shout 
"Hoo!" in a reel. 

Still Mr. Straggles was not perfectly at ease ; his gaiety was 
of that forced, reflection-drowning kind which Mr. Punch in- 
dulges in when he sings on the very eve of his execution. He 
did not make a good breakfast, in spite of Mr. Tollit's urgent 
recommendation to him " to lay in a good foundation," in 
which country folks imagine the whole secret of health and 
longevity is comprised. However, he contrived to get into the 
boots, rather than put them on ; and as they were large enough 
for him to tuck his trousers' legs into, he did not require knee- 
breeches. His terror now increased : he heard the sound of 
gathering men and horses in the homestall, and, as the clock 
.struck ten, Mr. Tollit told him all the preparations were com- 
pleted, put a whip in his hand, and then the melancholy pro- 
cession — so to speak — started. 

There were a great many people in the farm-yard, and the 
owner of the pack, to whom Mr. Tollit had given his permission 
to come, was carrying on an animated conversation with the 
dogs. 

" Law !" observed Mr. Straggles, as he saw them ; " I 
thought they would be greyhounds. Don't greyhounds hunt 
hares ? I've got a picture of some doing it." 

" That's coursing," said Mr. Tollit ; " all very well, but slow 
fun to what we are going at. No, these are the right sort — 
crosses between the heavy old harriers and the little fox 
beagles — all bone and nose ; too good almost for thistle- 
whippers." 

, " Slow fun to what we are going at !" repeated Mr. Straggles 
to himself. Why, in the picture he alluded to, the horses 



MK. STRAGGLES HAS A DAY WITH THE HARRIERS. 337 

were going at a splitting gallop as it was ; what could he be 
expected to do more. He was so struck by this idea, that he lost 
Mr. Tollit's remarks, and was only recalled by that gentleman's 
observing, 

" Now, here comes Old Jack. Come, Straggs ; now's your 
time." 

The horse was brought — a tall, bony, Irish animal, that looked 
as if it could have taken a barn on an emergency. 

" Stop a minute," said Joe ; "you can't reach the stirrup. 
Here, Oakes, give Mr. Straggles a leg up." 

To show his alacrity, Mr. Straggles gave a lively spring, and 
the man hoisted him up at the same time, but with such power, 
that he shot him clean over, and he came down on the other 
side. 

" Never mind, Straggs," cried Joe, laughing ; " you'll soon 
be used to it. Now — up ! — that's it. How are the stirrups ?" 

" Oh, they're all right," replied Straggles, who was sitting 
with, the leathers so short that his knees almost met over the 
pommel. 

" No, that won't do ; you must let them out five holes at 
least," continued Joe. " There, that's better, isn't it ? Now 
you are " 

" Quite jolly," replied Mr. Straggles ; but the air of comfort 
was but put on. He spoke it, as the boy who first gets into 
cold water, when bathing, gasps out, " B-b-b-beautiful !" to his 
fellows on the bank, in reply to their questions concerning 
temperature. 

" That's all right," said Mr. Tollit. " Now keep by me, and 
I promise you we shall be well up with the dogs. My gal- 
loway has beaten many a thorough-bred, but then I know all the 
fences." 

" I don't care particularly to be up with the dogs," suggested 
Mr. Straggles, mildly. 

" Oh, but I do. Keep your knees firm to the saddle, and 
your toes straight forward, or you'll be nicely caught by a gate- 
post, if two or three go through at once." 

Mr. Straggles did immediately as he was directed. In fact, if 
he could have tied his legs in a double knot under the horse's 
girths he would have done it. 

They rode about the fields for a little time, opening gates and 
shifting hurdles all very pleasantly, and Mr. Straggles said he 



338 WILD OATS. 

liked it very much. But before long a hare was found, the 
dogs gave tongue, and off they started. 

Away they went — through the copse and over the turnip- 
field, down the lane and across the water — splash — like a whirl 
of leaves blown along by the autumn wind, and at last they 
came to a large meadow which the dogs crossed diagonally. 

" I — say — Joe !" exclaimed Mr. Straggles, convulsively, as he 
wanted four hands to hold the reins, his hat, his whip, and the 
pommel of the saddle all at once — " I — say — Joe — how — are — 
we — to — get — out — of — here ?" 

" Over the ditch," replied his friend ; " see there, where 
those fellows are taking it." 

Mr. Straggles with difficulty looked ahead, and saw various 
mounted forms rising up on the horizon of the field, and then 
coming off and away again. " Oh dear !" he said to himself, 
" here it comes !" 

" Now hold fast, Straggs," cried Joe ; " I'll go ahead." 

The dreaded spot seemed advancing towards him rather than 
he nearing it. As it approached, he pushed his hat on tight, 
clutched the reins, and shut his eyes. There was a violent jolt ; 
he felt himself doing dreadful things in the air that the Bedouin 
Arabs would have failed in, and the next instant, with an in- 
tense shock, he was sitting on some ploughed ground on the 
other side of the fence, the horse remaining on the bank he had 
•just quitted. 

" Why, Straggs ! man alive !" cried Mr. Tollit, who had gone 
over like a bird, " how the devil did you come there ?" 

" Ah ! I wish I knew," answered his friend, completely be- 
wildered. " Which side am I ?" 

" Oh ! all right ; you shouldn't have checked the rein just as 
you were going to leap. Lookout! Old Jack's a coming." 

And the horse, who knew his business well, cleared the ditch 
and Mr. Straggles too, as Joe caught him by the bridle. 

" There, never mind," cried Mr. Tollit ; "jump up." 

"I can't," replied Mr. Straggles, who was not yet quite 
satisfied whether he was a mass of broken bones or not. 

" Pshaw ! wait a minute. Now then — up ! There you are 
again," 

Mr. Tollit had got off his horse, and given a second "leg 
up" to Mr, Straggles, who acquitted himself this time rather 
better. 



MK. STEAGGLES HAS A DAY WITH THE HAEEIEES. 339 

Once more they were off, Joe trying to make up for lost time 
as he flew on, over the furrows, like the wind. But now Mr. 
Straggles was not so ardent. He held back behind his friend, 
who, eager to join the others, did not see what he was about 
until he had got far ahead of him, and when they had all cleared 
away round a shaw, he pulled up to breathe and recover him- 
self. 

"Whilst thus occupied, as he gazed into the next field he fan- 
cied he saw the hare running in an opposite direction to that 
in which she had just been going ; in fact, puss had made a 
sharp double and followed it up, and Mr. Straggles' s knowledge 
of sporting matters went just so far as to assure him that such 
had been the case. 

" Ha! ha!" he said, "now I think I can astonish them a 
little." As he turned back, he saw the hounds scrambling over 
the bank at the top of the next field ; and, determined to be 
even with them, he made a dash at the small ditch that sepa- 
rated them, and in an instant was amongst them. In vain the 
huntsman shouted ; Mr. Straggles, elate with his position, kept 
tearing on, thinking that now or never was the time to retrieve 
his character, and soon beneath Old Jack's hoofs the dogs 
were being sent about in all directions. At last, seeing an un- 
comfortable row of hurdles ahead, he pulled up, and the next 
instant the owner of the pack was by his side. 

" "What the (something) are you about, you infernal scoun- 
drel!" he cried; "take that, you (something else) tailoring snob!" 

And as he spoke, he made the lash of his heavy hunting-whip 
wind round Mr. Straggles' s shoulders each time, with stinging 
force. 

" Leave me alone !" screamed our hapless friend ; " I couldn't 
help it ! Oh dear ! Hi ! Joe — Joe Tollit ! Leave me alone !" 
Again was the arm raised for punishment, when Mr. Tollit 
fortunately came up ; and poor Straggles, who had not that 
insensibility to the " horrors of the lash" which is only enjoyed 
by the clowns of the ring, appealed to him in writhing and 
piteous accents for an explanation. This was given, and all 
amends made immediately with the ready heartiness of an 
English sportsman. 



Mr. Straggles hunted no more that day, nor, indeed, did ha 

z2 



V 



340 



WILD OATS. 



ever again; the next morning he packed up his things and re- 
turned to town, still sore with his chastisement as regarded his 
shoulders, and not less uncomfortable generally from his un- 
wonted horsemanship. He has returned to his profession, and 
made a holy vow never to plunge into sporting life again, but in 
future to confine his fishing to that for crabs from the end of 
the Chain Pier ; his shooting to after dinner — eighteen-penny- 
worth at the gallery in Leicester-square, or for nuts with per- 
cussion-caps at Greenwich ; and his riding to that tranquil 
domestic exercise which Gravesend and Thanet, or the more 
contiguous expanse of the mild Blackheath, can afford, without 
risk of neck-breaking or horsewhipping. 



LENOR A. 

(fkom burgek.) 



Theee have been so many excellent translations done of this 
powerful Ballad, that some little apology should be made for 
offering the present one to the reader. But the metre of the 
original has not been strictly preserved in any I have seen ; and, 
in consequence, the Poem loses much of its impressiveness. In 
the following attempt, I have carefully kept to the metre ; and 
in some lines the words are in the exact order of the original ; 
indeed, I have sacrificed everything to mate it as close and literal 
as possible. But for this intention many of the verses might 
have been considerably improved* 



WtVittXb 



£enorc fu&r um$ ^orgenrof^ 
(gmpor cm$ fcfofweven Xraumen : 
,,§8tff untreu, SBilfjclm, ober foM? 
£Bie lange ttrittft 5u faumen?" — 
(gr war mtt $6m$ gnc&rtdb'S 9ttad)t 
©ejogcn in Me prager ©cfrlacfrf, 
Unb |>atte ntd)f gefcfrrtckn, 
Db er gefunb Qeblkfcen. 

ir. 

Der ^ntg unfc Me S^atferinn, 

£>e$ langen ftaberS mu5e, 

@rttKtc&fen tjiren ^ortcn ©inn, 

Un5 mad)tctt en&ltdb $rie5e ; 

Un5 jebcS ipeer, mU ©tng un5 ©ana,, 

SOW poufcnfd)Iac( un5 Sfltna un5 Afong, 

©cfdjmutff nut grunen SRcifcrn, 

Sog {mm ju fatten Jpaufertt. 



LEffORJL 



I. 

Lenoea at the blush of day, 

From heavy slumbers started, 
" Art dead, or faithless, Wilhelm. ? say, 

How long must we be parted ?" 
He was with Frederick's armed might, 
At Prague, and there engaged in fight, 
Had sent no word or token, 
To prove his health unbroken, 

II. 

The Empress and the Prussian King, 

Weary of constant striving, 
Their stubborn natures softening, 

Saw peace at last arriving. 
And all the troops rejoiced and sang, 
With kettle-drums and martial clang, 
Their arms with green boughs twining. 
Towards their homes inclining. 



344: WILD OATS. 



in. 

Unt> uberall, all uberall, 

5iuf 2Begen unb auf €>tcgctt f 

gog ttft unb ^ung ban Zubelfcfcall 

£>er ^ommenben entgeqen. 

,,©ottlob !" rief £tnb\inb ©atttnn laut, 

^^illfommen!'' mamte frofrc 25raut 

Kd) : aber fur £enoren 

2Bar ©ruf unb £uf fcerloren. 

IT. 

<2;ie frug ben gug fp obi ouf unb ah, 

Unb frug nad) alien Stamen ; 

&q$ Reiner rear, ber Stunbfioft gab, 

23on Allien, fo t>a famen. 

511? nun ber gug fcoruber war, 

gerraufte fie ifyv ;Rabenbaar, 

Unb ftmrf |TdE> bin jurdrbe 

9fftK ftmtjtger ©eberbe. 



Die buffer Ifcf rcol bin gu t&r :— 

,Md), baf? fid) ©oft erbarme! 

£)u trautel $inb, ft>al ifr nut bir ?" — 

Unb fa)lo|? fie in bte $lrme. — 

„ ,,D Gutter, Stutter ! bin ifr bin! 

fttun fobre SScIt unb KHcl bin! 

S5et ©ott if: fan Srbarmen. 

£> n?cb, o tueb mir ttrmen !"" — 

TI. 

„£Uf/ ©oft, Jllf! Sieb uns gnaMg a\\\ 
Stinh, bet' ein 23aterunfer! 
2Bal ©ott (Jut, ba$ ifr rcoblgctban. 
©ort, ©ott erbarmt fid) unfer!"— 
„„D Gutter, Gutter! Gitler 2Ba&n ! 
©ott bot an mir md)t froHaetran ! 
2Bas |>alf, roas fyalf mein §3eten r 
fRun ijr'l nid&t mebr eonnotben." // — 



LES-QEA. 345 



ni. 

And everywhere — all. all around, 
From roads and pathways meeting, 

Both old and young, with joyous sound, 
"VTent forth to give their greeting. 

•'• Thank G-od!" the child and wide outcried, 

And •• Welcome !" many a happy bride: 

Lenora, only, misses 

The warm embrace and kisses. 

IT. 

And up and down, amidst the brave, 
She flew, each name repeating ; 

But none the information gave 
Of ail that warlike meeting. 

And when the train had passed elsewhere, 

She tore her locks of raven hair, 

To earth her lair form flinging, 

Her hands in frenzv wringing. 

• 3 2 

T. 

Her mother ran to her. and cried, 
•• With mercy. Heaven, invest her, 

"What ill can my dear child betide :' ! 
And in her fond arms pressed her. 

i: Oh. mother — gone is gone for aye, 

The world and ail may pass away, 

G : 1 has no kindness done me. 

Oh woe ! oh woe upon me 1*' 

YI. 

a Help. God ! help ! Leave us not unblest : 

Pray to Him to befriend us. 
"What is His will, is for the I 

God ! God ! some comfort send us !" 
u Oh, mother, mother ! foolish plea ! 
G ; ;: has done nothing well for me ! 
My prayers unhelpc ded, 

Shall never more be needed !' ! 



346 WIL1> OATS. 



VII. 

„£tlf, ©oft, 5«f ! 2Ber ben IBafer fennf, 
S)er ttxtf?, er (jtlff ben Sttnbern. 
S)a$ fcocfrgelobfe ©aframenf 
Wxvh 5emen Sammer (intern/ 7 — 
„„D Gutter, Aflutter! roal mtcb fcrennf, 
i)al Xtnbcrt mtr fetn ©aframenf ! 
&etn ©aframenf mag Seben 
S)en SoMen rotter Qeben."" 

VIII. 

„6*r' SUn5! SBte wenn ber falfc&e SBtanti 

Sm fernen Ungerlanbe, 

©id) femes ©laubenS abgeffwn 

gum neuen (Sfyebanbe? 

£af fa&ren, Sftnb, fetn fterj fcafun ! 

@r jjaf el ntmmerme&r ©eftnnn ! 

SBann ©eel' unb Setb ftdb frennen, 

SBirb t{m fetn 9ftetnet5 brennett." 

IX. 

„ „D Gutter, buffer ! £tn tft &m! 

SSerloren iff fcerloren ! 

£>er Sob, ber Sob ij! metn ©eftrinn! 

D roar' id) nte geboren ! 

Stfd) au$, mein^idbf, auf efma, aul ! 

©ftrb &tn, fftrb jun in Sfladjt unb @rau$! 

§33ei ©off ifl fetn (grbarmen ! 

D ftK&, o roej) mtr airmen!""-— 



„£Uf, ©oft, frilf ! ©e&' ntd)f «n« @ertd)f 
TOf bcincm armen $tnbe ! 
©ie fwetf niefct, was Me gunge fprtd&f. 
23ef)alf tj)r ntcfot Me ©unbe !— 
3ld) ! $inb, fcerajf betn trbifcfc Scib. 
Unb benf an ©off unb ©eeUgfctt ! 
©o ftrirb bod) beiner ©eelen 
S)er 23rautia,am ntcbt fefylen." 



LENOEA. 347 



VII. 

" Help, God ! the True Believers know 
Their gloom His aid can brighten : 

The hallowed sacramental vow, 
Thy misery shall lighten." 

" Oh, mother, this consuming rage, 

No sacrament can e'er assuage ; 

"No sacrament e'er taken, 

Has power the dead to waken," 

Tin. 

" List, child. Perchance thy lover now, 

In distant lands united, 
In falsehood has renounced his vow, 

To some new marriage plighted. 
So let him go. His love thus o'er, 
His heart shall never profit more ; 
When soul and body sever, 
His pangs shall last for ever." 

IX. 

" Oh, mother — mother ! Gone is gone ! 

The past, the past is ended ! 
Death — death is now my gain alone, 

Why was I born unfriended ? 
Be quenched my light — be quenched for aye, 
In night and horror die away. 
God hath no kindness done me, 
Oh woe ! oh woe upon me !" 



x. 

" Help, God ! nor into judgment go, 

On this poor child's expressions ; 
What her tongue says, she does not know : 

Record not her transgressions. 
Forget all earthly woe, like this, 
Think but on God and heavenly bliss ; 
Then to thy spirits panting, 
"No bridegroom shall be wanting," 



348 WILD OATS. 



XI. 

„ „ D Gutter ! 2Ba$ tfi ©eligf e« ? 
£> Gutter! 2Ba« iff £W< ? 
§5ei f$m, bet t&m ijl feeligfett, 
Un5ojme©U&cIm #Mle!— 
fitfd) au$, mem Stdjt, auf eftug au$ ! 
(2>ttrb {>iti/ jftrb &in in 9lad)t unb ©rauS! 
£)fm' t&n mag id) auf (Srben, 
^ag bort nicbt fclia, fwer5en." "— 



XII. 

©o nmtjete SBerjUKifluna, 
3&r in ©e&trn unb ^bern. 
<5ie fujjr mit @otte$ 3}orfe|wng, 
£krmefj"en fort ju frabern, 
gcrfcblua, ben 33ufen unb jerrana, 
£>te £>anb bit ©onnenuntergang, 
U3t^ auf am £>tmmeHbogen 
£>te golbnen ©terne jogcn. 

XIII. 

Unb auf en, &ord>! ajna/S trap, trap, trap, 

5il$ nne eon SRoffeS Jpufen ; 

Unb Hirrcnb jfteg etn better ab 

5ln be$ ©elanberS ©tufen; 

Unb £ord) !— unb f)oraV ber Pfortenrtng 

©anj lofe, leife, fUngUnglina,: 

S)ann famen burd) bte $>forte 

23ernc&mlia) biefc SBorte: 

XIV. 

„£oUa, jjolla! £&u' auf, mein SStnb! 

©AlafjJ, Siebc&en, ober tva&fk bu ? 

SBie bifi nocb gegcn mid) geftnnt ? 

Unb roemcft ober ladbjl bu ?"— 

„ „ M, SBU&elm, bu ?-@o fpat bet !Kad;t ?■ 

©ewctnet {jab' id) unb geroacbt ; 

sjid), grofeS £eib erlttten !— 

g£o f"omm(l bu £er geritten ?" // — 



LENOEA. 349 



XI. 

" Oh, mother ! what is hell — or bliss — 

That thus you speak about it ? 
I knew but heaven in "Wilhelm's kiss, 

And all is hell without it. 
Be quenched my light — be quenched for aye, 
In night and horror die away j 
On earth without my lover, 
All happiness is over." 

XII. 

Thus her despair o'er every sense 
And through each vein was raging, 

And war against Grod's Providence 
Most rashly she was waging. 

She wrung her hands and beat her breast, 

Until the sun went down to rest, 

And up in heaven's arch beaming, 

The golden stars were gleaming. 

XIII. 

Hush ! listen ! listen ! tramp — tramp — tramp ! 

A courser's steps she counted, 
The rider next, with clattering stamp, 

Before the porch dismounted. 
And listen ! at the gate, a ring, 
Sounds faintly — $o£t\y-^]cling-ling-ling I 
And then came, through the portal, 
These words, distinctly mortal : 

XIY. 

" Holla ! open the door, my pet ; 

"Watchest thou, love ? or sleepest ? 
How art thou mooded towards me yet ? 

And laughest thou, or weepest ?" 
" Ah, "Wilhelm ! thou ! so late at night ! 
I've watch' d for thee in sorrowing plight, 
And undergone much chiding. 
Whence com'st thou now, thus riding?" 



350 WILD OATS. 

XT. 

tfWxt fatfeln nur urn ysiitittnafyt ; 
S8eit vltt x<b &cr Son fB&Jjmcn. 
3<& ?wfce fpat mid) aufgcmadtf, 
Un5 ftJiXI Md) mit mtr tubmen." — 
„ „$d), SBtlJclm, cr|l herein gefebftrinb ! 
S)en ipagebom burebfauf't bcr SSinb. 
£crein, in meincn airmen, 
fperjliebjler, ju erroarmen !" "— 

XVI. 

„£aj? faufen burd) ben frageborn! 

8of faufen, Sttnb, lag faufen ! 

£)er SRappe fdfrarrf, c* flirrt ber 6porn ; 

3d) 5arf afl|rier tit^t faufen. 

Somm', fdbur^c, faring' unb fdbffinge bid) 

$luf meinen happen Winter mid) I 

*JJtu£ &eut nod) fwnbert ^etlen 

9ftif Mr in* ISrautteit etlen."— 

XVII. 

,,,/W. ftJotiteft ljunberf SKeilen nod) 

9ftid) &euf in* fSrautbett fragen? 

Unb j)ord& J ^ fcrummt Me ©lotfe nod), 

£>ie elf fdfcon angefaMagen." "— 

„eie& &in, ftef) &er ! £er 5Jlonb fd)eint JkII 

2Bir unb bie SoMen reifen fcfcneU. 

3d) fringe 5icb, jur 2Beffe, 

!Kod) &euf in* #ocb$eitfce{fe."— 

XVIII* 

tt ,,&atf an, too ift bein ^ammerlein ? 

2Bo ? wie bein £od)jeiffcettd)en ?" " 

„2Beif, roeif Son fcier ! . . ©till, fu&l unb flein ! . . 

©«&$ 23retter unbjroei 33rettd)en I'* — 

„ n Spat'* SRaum fur mid) ?" " — „ %x\x bid) unb mid) ! 

^omm', fd^ur^e, faring' unb fringe bia>! 

£>ie £od)$eifgafie {joffen ; 

S)ie hammer ftej)f un* ojfem" 



USHOKJu 351 



XT. 

•• "VTe only as .idle at midnight ; 

Prom far Bohemia, hither. 
I rous'd myself late for the flight, 

And now will bear thee thither." 
i: St ay, TVilhelm. stay! The wind doth rash 
Lond whistling through the hawthorn-bush. 
Here — heart's love — let me hold thee, 
My —arm arms shall enfold tfaee." 

XTT. 

" Let the wind whistle through the L: 

Child — let it whistle stror _ 
Xow clinks my spur : the black-horse pa~~ 

I dare not tarry longer. 
_e — come : truss up thy ring 

On my black horse — behind, me spring — 
To reach our couch to-day. love, 
One hundred miles away, lc _ f . 

xni. 

u And must I ride one hundred miles 

To our bride-bed to-day. love : 
And hark ! the church clock tolls meanwhiles. 

Eleven ! doth it say. love : 
" See here ! — see there ! — the moon is high j 
We and the dead can swiftly fly. 
'Tia for a bet we're flying, 
To where the couch is lying." ; 

STOOL 

u Yet say — where is thy bridal hall, 

Thy nuptial bed — where lies i: : 
•• Par — far from hence ! — still, cool, and small, 

Eight slender planks comprise ::. " 
' : Hast room for me r*' u For me and thee ! 
Come, gird thy dress ; quick, mount with me, 
The e there to meet thee : 

Tie doors wide open greet thee." 



352 WILD OATS, 



©db&tt SkfcdKtt fd&urjfc, fprana, unb fcforoana, 

©id) auf ba$ SRol? bejjenbe; 

SBofyl urn ben tvautcn heifer faMana, 

@tc i&re Sittenpdnbc; 

Unb fyurre, £urre, {jop r jjop, &op ! 

©tng'S fort in faufenbem ©alopp, 

£>a# SRof unb better f&noben, 

Unb $ie$ unb gunfen jlofcen. 

xx, 

gur redbtcn unb $ur linfen <r>anb 

sQorbet flor i&ren 35lttfen, 

3Bic flogen 9Ina,er, £atb' unb ganb ! 

SSie bonnerfen 5ie 23rutfen ! 

„©rauf £iebd)en aucfr?....S)er SGRonb fdbeint Jell! 

£urra& ! 51c Xobfen reifen fcfrnett ! 

©raut SHefcd&en aucfc flor Sobfen ?" — 

„ „«W& nctn !— £>od) lag bic £obmt !"" 

XXI. 

$3a$ Hang borf fur ©efana, unb &Iang ? 

2Ba$ jTattcrtcn bte 3labcn ?.. 

J£)Ord) @(o (fen Hong ! £ora) Xobfenfang : 

„2a#t un$ ben £cib fcegraben !" 

Unb na&er 30$ cin Setc^enjug, 

S)er ©arg unb Sobfenfca&re trug. 

S)a$ gieb war ju $ergletd)en 

£)em Unfenruf in Seic&en. 

XXII. 

„!Racfe Wittevtxa&t fcegrafct ben get& 
«mu ftlang unb ©ang unb SUage ! 
Sc&f fii&r' icfr &eim mein fun^c^ 2Betb, 
*SJMt mir jum 35raufgelage! 
SCornm', $ujlcr, Jier ! Stomm' mif bent @&or, 
Unb gurgle mir ha$ 33rautttcb oor! 
Svomm', ?) faff, unb fprtd) ben 6cgcn, 
<$ty nrir ju §3ett un$ legen!" 



LENOKA. 353 



XIX. 

The fair girl quickly dressed, and sprung 

Upon the horse behind him ; 
And, round the trusty rider flung, 

Her lily arms entwined him. 
And hurra ! off ! away ! the steed 
Flies like the wind, with whistling speed ; 
The horse and rider quivering, 
And sparks and pebbles shivering ! 

xx. 

And right and left — on either hand, 
Before their eyes quick sunder'd, 

How flew the lawns, and heaths, and land ! 
And how the bridges thunder' d ! 

" Dearest, dost fear ? The moon is high ! 

Hurra ! the dead can swiftly fly ! 

Dost fear the dead, my own love ?" 

" ~Nay — leave the dead alone, love." 

XXI. 

"What sound is that of clang and knell ? 

Why do the ravens flutter ? 
Hark ! the death-song : and tolls the bell ! 

" Bury the corpse," they utter ! 
A funeral train was coming near ; 
They bore the coffin and the bier : 
The hymn, the croak resembled 
Of frogs, in ponds assembled. 

XXII. 

" After midnight inter the dead, 

With knell and lamentation : 
JSow, my young wife I homeward lead, 

With bridal celebration. 
Come, sexton, with thy choral throng, 
And drawl us out thy bridal song ! 
Come, gabble, priest, thy blessing, 
Ere towards the couch we're pressing !" 
2 a 



354 WILD OATS. 

XXIII. 

<&txll ^fona, unb ©ana, — Die 33a|)re fd&ft>aa5. .. 

©efyorfam feinem SRufen 

Yarn's &urre, fyurre ! nadf) gerannf, 

iport J)inter'l happen .gmfen. 

Unb tmmer wetter, f)op, f)op, jjop! 

@ina/$ fort in fcmfenbem ©afopp, 

S)afif Sftoi? unb better fcfcnoben, 

Unb &e$ un5 gunfen jloben. 

XXIV. 

SBSie fTogcn retd)$, tvk fTogen linf$ 

©ebirge, 33aum' unb £)etfen! 

SOSte flogen Unf> unb redbtS unb linfS 

S)te tobvftv, ©tabf unb ^letfen !— 

„@raut Steven aud) ? ... S>cr 9Jlonb fdbeint ^eH! 

turraf) ! Me Sobten reiten fcbnett ! 
raut £iebd)en aud) fcor Xobtcn ?" 
„„$*! 2a£ fie rujm Me Sobten!" " 



XXV. 

6te^5a! fte&ba! Sim ipocbgertcfct 
Xanjt' urn be$ 9labe$ ©putbel, 
4>alb ftcfetabrltcb bet *Jftonbenitd)t 
din lufttge* ©eftnbel.— 
,,@afa! ©efinbef, Iner, fomm' |)ter! 
©eflnbel, fomm' unb folge mtr ! 
Sanj' un$ ben Jpocl^cttrctaen, 
SBann wir ju 25ette jletgen !" 

XXVI. 

Unb 5a^ ©ejtnbet, frufi), bufc&, &uf#! 
Stam {rinten nad) gepra)|dt, 
2Bie 2Btrbelnunb am £afelbuf<& 
S)urd) bitrre flatter raffcit; 
Unb wetter, wetter, f>op, f)op, £op! 
©mg'S fort in faufenbem ©alopp, 
S)a|? Sftof? unb better f&nobcn, 
Unb $te$ unb gunfen Robert. 



LENORA. 355 

XXIII. 

The clang was still' d ; vanish' d the bier, 

Obedient to his calling : 
And all beside — less and less near 

Behind his horse was falling. 
And further — faster still — the steed 
Hies like the wind with whistling speed ; 
The horse and rider quivering, 
And sparks and pebbles shivering ! 

XXIV. 

And left, and right, how swift in flight 

Pass'd hedges, trees, and mountains ! 
How flew on right, and left, and right, 

Towns, villages, and fountains ! 
" Dearest ! dost fear ? The moon is high ! 
Hurra ! the dead can swiftly fly ! 
Dost fear the dead, my own love ?" 
" Ah, leave the dead alone, love I" 

xxv. 

See there ! about the gallows' height 

Round the wheel's axle prancing, 
Seen dimly in the pale moonlight, 

A shadowy mob is dancing. 
" Halloo — there ! Rabble ! Ho ! come here ! 
Come, mob, with me — and follow near ! 
Our wedding- dance be skipping, 
When we to bed are tripping !" 

XXVI. 

And quickly on the mob did rush 

Behind them, noisy- clattering, 
As whirlwinds through the hazel-bush, 

Send down the dry leaves pattering : 
And further — faster still — the steed 
Plies like the wind, with whistling speed ; 
The horse and rider quivering, 
And sparks and pebbles shivering ! 



356 WILD OATS. 



XXVII. 



2Bk flog, tvat runb ber 9Honb befd&tett, 

2Bte flog e$ in bte $erne ! 

2Bte flogcn often iiber Inn 

S)er Jpimmel unb Me ©terne! 

„©raut Stebcfcen aucf) ? . . . S)er *£ftonb fd^ctrtt &ett ! 

£urra|) ! bte Sobfen retten fcfrnefl ! 

@raut £te6d)en audf) fcor Sobten ?" 

„ „D ft>e& ! 2a£ rujm bte Sobten I" " 



XXVIII. 

„^Hopp'! SRapp' ! *£fttd() bunft, ber $afyn fd;on ruff 

33alb nrirb ber <2>anb fcerrmnen. 

SRapp'! SRapp'! 3* nutfre SRorsenluff— 

^app' ! fummle bid) flon {rinnen ! 

SoWradfrf, $oU*ra$f if! unfcr £auf ! 

S)a* £od)$ettfcerte t|»ut ft* auf ! 

£>te Sobfen reifen fdmette! 

UBir ftnb, nrir ftnb jur ©telle !" 

XXIX. 

SRafcfc ouf cm eifern @tttert{)or 
©ing'S mtt fcerjxmgfem gugeL 
*5Rif fcforoanfer ©erf em ©dblag baOor 
gerfprengte ©dbloj? unb 3ltegel. 
S)ie ftlugel fTogen fltrrenb auf, 
Unb uber ©raber gtng ber £auf. 
@S blinffen Setcfoentfeme 
•iftunb urn im *Eftonbenfd)cme. 

XXX. 

#a& ftcl)! £>af> ftej)! tm ^lugcnblitf, 

|>u|)u, em graflid) 2Bunber! 

£>e* SRetferS Poller, ©ftitf fur ©tuff, 

$tel ab, ttne mtirber gunber. 

Sum ©d)<tbel, un^ofme gopf unb ©dbopf, 

gum natften ©dbabel roarb fein $opf, 

6citt ^ftrper mm ©ertppe, 

^SE^it ©funbenglaS unb £tppe. 



LENOEA. 357 



XXYII. 

How flew they in the moon's wide light, 

Soon into distance speeding ! 
And overhead, how quick in flight 

"Were heavens and stars receding ! 
" Dearest ! dost fear ? The moon is high ! 
Hurra ! the dead can swiftly fly ! 
Dost fear the dead, my own love ?" 
" Oh, leave the dead alone, love !" 

XXVIII. 

" My steed ! methinks the cock doth crow ; 

The sand is just expended ; 
My steed ! the morning air I know, 

Quick, hence ! our course is ended ! 
Achiev'd, achiev'd now is our ride ! 
The nuptial chamber opens wide ! 
The dead ride swiftly striving ! 
The goal, the goal's arriving!" 

XXIX. 

And swiftly tow'rds an iron grate 

"With tearing speed they thunder' d : 
"With a slight switch he strikes the gate, 

And lock and holt is sunder'd. 
The doors unfolded, creaking wide, 
And over graves still on they ride 
"With tombstones round them gleaming, 
On which the moon is beaming. 

XXX. 

Look ! in the twinkling of an eye, 

Ho ! ho ! — a ghastly wonder ! 
Piecemeal the rider's garments lie, 

Like tinder shred asunder. 
A skull — of tuft and queue bereft, 
A naked skull alone is left ! 
A skeleton, before her, 
Holds scythe and sand-glass o'er her ! 



358 WILD OATS. 



ff)0d& fc auntie fid), ftrilb fcbnofc ber 3tapp', 
Un5 fpruj)fe Jeuerfuttfen ; 
Un5 jjmt! ftmr'$ unfcr t^r Jnnab 
fBerfcfoamtt&ett uttb fcerfunfett. 
©e&eut! ©e&eut mi fco&cr guff, 
©eftunfel fam a\xi ttefer ©ruff. 
Senorcnl ^crj, mit 23efcen, 
SHant} jwifd&ttt Sob unb gefcen. 

XXXII. 

9lun fanjfen roofyl fcet ^Jtonbenglanj, 

SRunb urn j)erum im $retfe, 

£>u @cf ffcr duett ^ettenfanj, 

Uub fceuto btefe HBctfc : 

„ ©ebulb ! ©ebulb ! fuenn'S Jper& auc& ferid)f ! 

9Jltt ©off tm igtmmel |»a5re nidbt ! 

$elg«M &tjf bu lebtg; 

@ott fa ber @ccU fittabia !" 



DEC 161948 



LEXORA. 359 



XXXI. 

The black horse wildly snorts and rears, 
And breathes forth sparks ; and shrinking 

Prom underneath them, disappears, 
Quick vanishing and sinking. 

"Wild howling fills the welkin round, 

And groans from the deep grave resound. 

Lenora's heart, just shivering, 

'Twixt life and death is quivering. 

XXXII. 

And now beneath the moon's pale glance, 

Round in a circle scowling, 
Link'd hand in hand, the spectres dance, 

And to this tune are howling : 
" Forbear ! forbear ! though breaks the heart, 
'G-ainst God in Heaven take no part ! 
Xow from thy body sever. — 
God save thy soul for ever 1" 



THE EXE. 



C. WHITING, BEAUFORT HOUSE, STRAND. 



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